


For the Better

by SassyEggs



Series: For the Better [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa reaches her breaking point.  Can the next 24 hours make a difference?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 11pm

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what's wrong with me and these modern AUs. SMH. 
> 
> Sorry about the sucky summary.

_I hate my friends._

Well, _that_ wasn’t really fair, to be honest. Not the part about hating them- that much was true- but that she considered them her friends. They were more like her group- the people she hung out with, always interested in inviting her to party but never interested in… pretty much anything else in her life. Which was fine- she wasn’t really interested in them, either.

She couldn’t even really remember how it got this way. It used to be just her and Jeyne, friends since first grade, practically sisters. Then she started dating Joffrey, hanging around his gang of idiot friends, and was quickly claimed by his groupies, Margaery and Taena.

Margaery, who was sitting next to her at the crowded bar, and Taena, who was draped lewdly around some stranger in the corner. Sansa was shaking her head, unimpressed with her friend’s behavior, when she felt an arm snake around her from behind.

“Hey babe,” Joffrey slurred into her ear. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Sansa turned to her boyfriend of two years and gave him a fake smile. “Just taking a breather, hon.”

“You’ve been sitting here like a lump almost the entire time,” he complained loudly, his voice getting lost in the din of the club. “I wanna see you dance.”

Joffrey was eying her like a predator seeking his prey. She knew he liked to watch her dance, liked making his friends watch her dance, liked it when she danced the way he told her to dance. The first time some strange guy tried to hit on her she was worried he would be mad, but no, he had been _impressed_. He _liked_ that other men wanted her, liked when they tried to take her, because he liked that others coveted something he thought belonged to him. And she always humored him, though she hated it, because it made her feel less guilty about not giving him what he _really_ wanted.

_God, I hate my friends._

“Let me finish my drink and I’ll be right out,” she smiled at him, not with her eyes. He nodded and grabbed her ass as he turned and left, completely missing the way she rolled her eyes at him.

“I gotta use the little girl’s room,” Margaery shouted into her other ear. “Save my seat?”

Sansa nodded without looking and Margaery hurried away.

Well, at least she had an excuse to stay at the bar. Her drink was long gone and she was left swirling the ice cubes around the glass with the stir stick. She didn’t even care that Margaery was gone for ages. Or _shouldn’t_ care. She suspected there was something more to it than just a trip to the restroom but never ever wanted to force the issue. Because she really just didn’t want to care.

“You need a drink, sweetheart?” a voice resounded next to her, and she had the vague impression of a large man moving to sit beside her.

“Uh, no thank you, I’m just… waiting for my boyfriend…” she responded as loudly as she could without looking at him. As much as she hated using the term, dropping the b-word on guys in bars usually sent them scurrying off to find someone else, someone unattached.

Not this guy, though. “Maybe I can buy you a drink while you’re waiting.” The man’s voice was a smooth baritone, reverberating in her ear, not unpleasant in itself, but there was… something hidden in it that made her uncomfortable.

“Oh, he’s… just in the bathroom. He’ll be back. Soon.” God, where was Margaery. Maybe _she_ could take care of this guy. As if on cue, Sansa’s phone lit up and she grabbed it quickly to see the message she’d just received. It was from Joffrey. And it wasn’t surprising.

_‘Margie not feeling good, taking her home. See if one of the guys will give you a lift.’_

Sansa dropped the phone face-down on the counter with a huff. So typical, she knew, but god, their timing could not be worse. Now she was alone with this guy who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) take a polite hint.

“What kind of guy leaves his girlfriend alone in this meat market?” the giant rumbled at her, leaning in a little closer, and even in her periphery she could see the sly smile tugging at his lips, the grin of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

“He’ll be right back,” she said weakly, turning her eyes towards him as she leaned away. And now that she saw him, she couldn’t stop staring. He was easily the largest man she had ever seen- humongous, even. And his eyes- slate grey and piercing and so familiar. They looked just like…

“I’m Gregor,” the man leered, holding his enormous hand out to her.

“Sansa,” she responded breathlessly as she shook his hand, unable to take her eyes away from him. She knew who he was, heard all about him, though she’d never seen him before, and now she wasn’t sure if it was the stories or the man himself making her so uneasy.

“I’d be happy to buy you a drink while you’re waiting, no strings attached,” Gregor told her, his eyes telling her something completely different. He hadn’t let go of her hand, was holding it in an almost inappropriate way, caressing her palm with his thumb. And as she looked at him, she got an idea- a terrible, horrible, _wonderful_ idea.  

“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that very much,” she stammered nervously. _Oh god, where is he, I know he’s here somewhere._ She wasn’t looking at Gregor anymore, her eyes were scanning the crowd, desperately searching for the one person she thought could save her, the only one of Joffrey’s friends who had ever been even remotely respectful to her. She found him within seconds. He’d already seen her, apparently, and as their eyes locked he started moving towards her, jaw set in determination.

“I’m willing to take my chances,” the jerk next to her rumbled. “Are you?”

She was looking at him again, trying to think of what to say that was both polite and dismissive, when her savior finally approached them. _That was fast._  

“Hi honey!” she called brightly, her voice sounding so hollow and insincere she almost winced. The two men didn’t seem to notice, though, as they sized each other up.

“ _This_ is your boyfriend?” Gregor growled out in a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

“Yep,” she snapped quickly, before either of them could argue. “This is my boyfriend, Sandor. And this is… I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Gregor,” the men snarled in unison.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” she chirped, rolling her eyes at her own question.

Again, they ignored her, choosing instead to stare at each other, the tension mounting and becoming near unbearable. Sansa slid off the barstool and moved to stand close to Sandor, hoping he’d take the hint and lead her out of there. Unfortunately, picking up on hints was not his forte, so they just stood there stiffly till Gregor finally spoke.

“Have a seat, little brother,” the giant told him. “I’ll buy you a drink. We can catch up.”

To her absolute horror, Sandor moved slowly to straddle the stool she’d just vacated, eyes never leaving his brother’s. Worse, though, was how he pulled her with him, leading her with just his huge hand at her waist until she was standing between his sprawled legs.  

Sansa was… nervous. For so many reasons! The first being that she’d just told a blatant lie to this huge man who she knew full well had a violent history, was fully capable of making her _pay_ for lying to him, even though she was nothing to him. The second was how the lie now rested firmly on the incredibly broad and muscular shoulders of that monster’s younger brother, Joffrey’s friend, a man doggedly determined to always be truthful. It was that vicious honesty that got him nicknamed ‘the Hound.’ Well, the honesty… and his tendency to solve problems with his fists.

The third was how he now had his hand on her body, mostly at the small of her back as he conversed tersely with Gregor, but also moving it occasionally to her hip to softly caress her curves. It was…. loving, as if he truly was her boyfriend, though heaven knew her _real_ boyfriend never touched her with so much affection. Oh god, her real boyfriend… Joffrey was going to be _pissed_ when he heard about this. She’d just have to tell him that she was trying to scare a guy off, and hated how the Hound touched her, though what she truly hated was how she _didn’t_ hate it. There was just something warm and sweet and almost intimate in the way he held her, though his expression remained firm, his eyes blazed in hatred, and tension roiled just under his skin.    

 _He smells so clean_ , she mused before she could stop herself. Not like the eye-watering cologne Joffrey wore or any of those god-awful body sprays, but… _clean_ , even above the musty haze of the club. The way she was positioned she was standing on the ruined side of his face- not that it mattered, she was long used to it by now- except with her back to Gregor she was also facing Sandor and standing oh-so-close. She really had no choice but to examine him- the hook of his nose, the hole in his jaw, the way his neck jumped when he took a swig of his drink. She could even see right through the curtain of black hair that hung over that side of his face, and the damaged flesh that used to be his ear.  

She remembered clearly when he told her the story of his scars. It was a night similar to this one, where Joff had disappeared and left her to fend for herself, and she wound up in the not-quite-tender care of the Hound. They’d both been drinking, and he didn’t have a car, so they’d taken a cab to her apartment and he walked her in to make sure she made it ok. And he told her- how it happened, who had done it, what it had been like. Her heart broke for him that night, this bitter and scarred man, and though she would never say they were particularly close she could say she saw him in a different light than the others.

And now, staring up at those scars, hearing his raspy voice contrasting with his brother’s smooth one, knowing it was the man across from him who was the cause of this destruction… her heart broke all over again, and without really thinking it through, she snuggled up to her alleged boyfriend, wanting to protect him in the same way he was protecting her. There was nothing in his expression that indicated he even noticed her closer proximity, but the hand at her hip squeezed gently so he must have.

When his drink was gone and their conversation seemed over, she finally spoke up.

“I’m bored,” she announced loudly and awkwardly. “Can we go now?”

Sandor didn’t react at all, but the giant behind her laughed. “Why would you want to leave before the fun even starts?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find something fun to do at my place. Right honey?”

 _That_ got his attention. He turned slowly and met her eyes with a murderous look and all she could do was smile even brighter. God, she could just slap herself sometimes. She had wanted to come off as sultry and enticing, but even to her own ears her words sounded artless and shrill. Sandor’s fingers dug into her hip bones, just shy of painful, and that look in his eyes was… not pleasant. He must have thought she sounded stupid as well, and she could feel her face and ears getting hot with a blush, even as she reminded herself to keep smiling.

“Well, I certainly won’t interfere," Gregor conceded, clearly unhappy. “See you around, dog.”

“Don’t call him that,” Sansa snapped at the man, fear somehow replaced with anger. He raised one eyebrow at her in surprise but otherwise didn’t comment, and the Hound led her away without a word.

He still had his hand on her hip as they walked across the dance floor to the exit- to keep up the illusion, she guessed- so she played along, swinging her hips just a little more than necessary. They were well out of the club and Gregor’s line-of sight before the Hound let his arm drop, and when he stopped and glared at her all trace of affection was gone. He didn’t even have to tell her what he was so upset about.

She threw her hands up and sighed in defeat. “I… I don’t know. I just wanted him to leave me alone.”

“So why didn’t you just tell him to leave you alone?” he growled.

“I _did_. He didn’t care.”

“So you told him you had a boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” she insisted. “And he _still_ didn’t care.”

“So you told him _I_ was your boyfriend?” he demanded, eyes narrowed.

Oh, god, what had she done? She knew it was a bad idea even before she did it, and now he was mad at her and she could barely form an explanation. “I… I thought it would annoy him,” she finally mustered, hoping he would understand.

The Hound noticeably relaxed and his eyes softened as her words sunk in. “You knew who he was?”

“Of course I knew who he was,” she laughed.

“So you told him I was your boyfriend… just to fuck with him?”

She took a deep breath then let it all out. “Pretty much,” she agreed, looking down at her shoes.

There were several long moments of silence before he finally relented. “Alright, I can live with that.  Where’s Joff?”

Sansa huffed and rolled her eyes before taking out her phone and showing him the message. He didn’t respond at all, thankfully, only grimaced slightly and motioned for her to follow him. Which was good, because she was _so_ ready to leave. She’d had enough of this club, where everything was too slick and shiny and dripping in deceit.  

Joffrey did this more nights than not, just disappeared and left her to fend for herself. At first she’d been mortified. Now… well, it was still embarrassing, but tempered by the relief she felt at not having to spend more time with him than necessary. And inevitably she’d wind up with the Hound, escorting her home in one way or another, not exactly nice to her but always protective. She’d much rather he take her home than one of the others. No way Boros or Meryn would take care of her, if anything they’d probably try to cop a feel. Of course, Sandor had just had his hand all over her, too, but for some reason it had seemed… appropriate.

“You didn’t have to sit and have a drink with him,” she said as she climbed up into the cab of his huge black truck.

“Uh, _yeah_ I did. Had to rub it in his face, didn’t I?”

It made sense, then, why he held her like that- he was only showing off for his brother. It might have _felt_ affectionate, but… nope, just another fake part of her evening, another fake part of her life. And of course it was- she’d replaced one fake boyfriend with another one, not even convincingly, so why would she think it had been genuine?

_Stop pouting, Sansa._

Resting her head on the passenger-side window, she tried to remind herself of all the things she should be grateful for. Her health, her family, her education, her apartment. A boyfriend that made girls jealous. She rolled her eyes at the very thought.

“He’s fucking her, you know.”

Sansa’s head snapped in his direction, immediately suspicious, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead. Why would he say that to her? Was this some sort of test? He was one of Joffrey’s friends, been part of his life since he’d been a boy, and now he was… what, _tattling_ on him? How was she supposed to react to this? “Yeah, I know,” she said quickly before turning away.

“You don’t seem particularly upset about it.”

“Better her than me,” she mumbled bitterly before she could stop herself.

The stunned silence lasted only a second. “What the fuck does _that_ mean?” 

Sansa was quickly losing patience with this man. “It _means_ as long as he’s getting it from somewhere I don’t have to feel bad he’s not getting it from _me.”_ Oh, god, why would she tell him that? He would tell Joffrey for sure, and then what would happen?

“He tells everyone he’s getting it from you, anyway,” he remarked, almost gently.

She let out one long shaky sigh. “Yeah, I know.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” he rasped in disbelief.

She didn’t know what game he was playing here, but she knew she’d had enough of it. “What exactly is it you suggest I do?” she clipped in annoyance.

“Smart girl like you should be able to figure that out.”

His eyes were still on the road when she looked over at him, so calm and collected one might think he hadn’t said anything at all. “Been a long time since anyone has called me smart,” she muttered, looking away quickly when she saw him turn his head towards her.

They rode in silence the rest of the way, not exactly awkward, not more than usual. She was pretty much used to him by now, the mean things he said, though this was probably the meanest thing he’d ever said to her. Even though he was right. And now, as he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex she didn’t have that feeling of relief she usually felt, knowing she’d soon be safe inside with the world at her back. For some reason, seeing her home gave her a feeling of dread; it only got worse when he parked and cut the engine.    

“Come on, little bird, I’ll walk you up,” he rasped as he unbuckled and opened his door.

_Little bird…_

He’d started calling her that almost as soon as she’d met him, nearly two years ago, told her she chirped whatever people expected of her, did whatever people expected of her, didn’t have a single original thought in her head. And god, she’d hated him when he said that. But looking up at her apartment- the one picked out by her parents so that she could focus on school, which was _also_ picked out by her parents- she realized just how right he was. And it was suddenly too much. Just… too much. The sheer falseness of it all; the falseness of her _life_. Fake boyfriend, fake friends, fake school, fake apartment… everything picked out for her, and she just went along with it, not a peep of protest from the little bird. How did it get this way? And why on earth would she want to keep going like this?

Her door opened suddenly and she saw him hold out his hand, waiting to help her out. She didn’t move, didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on the building in front of her.

“I don’t want to go in.”

She didn’t know where that came from, but… it was the truth. She didn’t want to go in, maybe not ever, didn’t want to go back up to that apartment and the rest of that life. He sighed loudly in what she could only imagine was irritation and rested his arm on the door.

“Where do you want to go, then?”

“Anywhere,” she answered, almost a whisper. “Just… not here.”

They remained in silence for several heartbeats, neither one of them speaking or moving, and she imagined him dragging her from his truck in frustration. Why would she think he’d want to babysit her all evening? They weren’t even friends, for god’s sake. But then, finally, he shut her door without a word and walked around, climbing back into his truck.

 _“Anywhere?”_ he rasped at her as he buckled up and started the engine. She glanced over at him for just a second and nodded her head, and he slammed the truck into gear and drove back into the night. He didn’t tell her where they were going, but it didn’t really matter- wherever he took her had to be better than where she’d been.


	2. Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the liberal use of lyrics, but once I started I couldn't stop, lol. And now I have all these songs stuck in my head!
> 
> Chapter feels a bit scattered to me, but it is what it is, I suppose.  
> _________________________________

_♫ Adrock drinks 3, Mike D is D ♫_  
_♫ _Double R foots the bill most definitely_ ♫ _  
_♫ I drink Brass Monkey and I rock well ♫_  
_♫ Got a castle in Brooklyn, that's where I dwell ♫_

He took her to the Georgia Theater, a club set in a hopelessly-defunct movie theater right in the heart of town. But unlike the Sunset- the club Joffrey liked going to- this one was old and almost casual, the floors worn down and the bar stools shabby. It was ‘New Wave Night,’ which Sansa had never heard of before but apparently meant they played exclusively music from the 1980s. Everyone was dressed adorably in day-glo clothing, frizzy side-ponytails, and polo shirts with popped collars. She didn’t recognize more than half of the songs but danced to them anyway, and she was feeling absurdly out-of-place in her pink and black lace bodycon dress, but… she’d never ever had so much fun at a club before!

 _♫ Come on Eileen well I swear (what he means) ♫_  
_♫ Ah come on let’s take off everything ♫_  
_♫ That pretty red dress, oh Eileen (tell him yes) ♫_  
_♫ Ah come on let’s, ah come on Eileen ♫_

Sandor didn’t dance, which wasn’t surprising, she never saw him dancing at the Sunset, either. He stayed somewhere near the bar and just let her do whatever she wanted, which was completely different than going to a club with Joffrey. Now, when a guy came up and wanted to dance with her she just firmly told him no and he’d be on his way. And any guy that couldn’t take her polite rebuffs had the pleasure of meeting her grumpy escort.

Not all the guys wanted to hit on her; some of them just wanted to dance as much as she did, and soon she had her own little group of pseudo-friends, three girls and two boys, all bouncing and waving their arms and generally having a blast. And occasionally she’d turn her eyes to the bar and notice he was looking at her. She worried he was bored sitting there, doing nothing but drinking and watching his charge jump around like a lunatic, but he never indicated he was ready to leave so she kept dancing.  

 _♫ When a problem comes along, you must whip it ♫_  
_♫ Before the cream sets out too long, you must whip it ♫_  
_♫ When something's goin' wrong, you must whip it ♫_

The girls had hauled her off to the restroom giggling, all four of them crammed into the two-stall nightmare that had somehow passed an inspection. Instead of being horrified, though, Sansa was grateful for the experience. This was what girls were supposed to do, right? Go to the restroom in groups? The fact that she’d never felt the urge to stick that closely to Margaery and Taena was as telling as it was depressing.

“Is this your first time at the Theater?” her new friend Donna asked.

“Yeah,” she responded quickly, grateful for the relative quiet. “It’s pretty awesome.”

“Saturday’s are the best, though they can get crowded,” Donna agreed. “Tuesdays they play current dance stuff, so that can be fun, too. Thursday is the Hot Body contest, so you get a LOT of drunk and horny guys but it’s not _awful.”_

“How often do you come here?” Sansa asked after they finished washing their hands, a little stunned that people went clubbing on weekdays, especially with school the next morning.

“Every chance I get,” the girl winked at her as she dried her hands on her white mini-skirt, then opened the door to the bathroom and plunged back into the crowd.

 _♫ All the old paintings on the tomb ♫_  
_♫ They do the sand dance, don’t you know? ♫_  
_♫ If they move too quick, oh-ay-oh ♫_  
_♫ They’re falling down like a domino ♫_

She was looking over her shoulder to check on her escort when the girl next to her- Lisa, she’d said her name was- turned and looked with her, then gave her a smile as she grabbed her by the arm and leaned towards her.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she yelled into her ear.

She opened her mouth to explain but… oh, what the hell. That’s how this whole night started, right? By calling him her boyfriend? And… these were total strangers, and it would be near-impossible to explain over the noise, and it wasn’t like he could hear her… so she just nodded her head.

Lisa leaned in again. “He’s hot!”

Sansa stopped dancing, her eyes went wide, her mouth hung open. Fortunately, she realized pretty quickly how silly she looked, but the only remedy she could muster was a hand slapped quickly across her gaping maw.

Lisa looked like she was laughing at her though she couldn’t hear it, then she leaned in again and shouted. “You don’t think so?”

They turned in unison to look at the man in question, who was of course still watching her, then both spun away from him giggling. “I guess,” she shouted at her friend with an exaggerated shrug.

“How long have you been dating?”

“Not long!” _Really_ not long.

“So you haven’t…” At this point, Lisa held her hands up and made the universal ultra-classy symbol for coitus. Sansa grabbed her hands and pulled them down as fast as she could before the Hound could see, then used her other hand to cover her eyes. Dear god, please don’t let him have seen that. She finally peeked at her friend through her fingers and shook her head.

“Well, maybe tonight’s the night,” Lisa shouted with a mischievous smile.  

 _♫ Goddess on the mountain top ♫_  
_♫ Burning like a silver flame ♫_  
_♫ The summit of beauty and love ♫_  
_♫ And Venus was her name ♫_

As one song ended and another began, she took the opportunity to go check on her escort. She hadn’t spent any time with him at all, though she doubted he cared one way or the other- he seemed quite content to just sit at the bar, drinking and eyeballing the crowd of dancers. In fact, he was currently eyeballing one girl right now, some hussy in a spandex tube-top and short shorts. When he noticed Sansa approaching, though, he didn’t look ashamed or guilty or anything, just raised one eyebrow before leaning in and shouting.

“Thirsty?”

At her nod, he turned away to order her a drink. It was nice, being able to just let loose and have a little fun, then wander over to the bar and have someone _else_ get her a drink. Maybe she could talk Joffrey into coming here one night instead. She wouldn’t have to get so dressed up for a place like this, and with a little luck he’d get bored real quick and Margie would be ‘sick’ again and they’d all leave and it could just be her and the Hound again.

NO, god, where had that come from?

After a minute or so, he turned and handed her a cheap plastic cup, and she lifted it to her mouth to take a cautious sip, unsure of what he’d given her. Water. He got her _water?_ She blinked up at him in confusion, so he leaned in again to yell at her ear.

“You want something else?”

Actually… she really _didn’t_ want something else. The water was exactly what she needed after all that dancing around like a maniac. She was just so used to downing alcohol all night it never occurred to her to just drink regular old water. And now that it had… no, she didn’t think she needed a drink at all, and shook her head before drinking it all down.

“What time is it?” she shouted up at him, and he reached into his pocket to hand over her phone so she could check herself. 2:33am. Dang, they’d been here for hours. Didn’t seem like it. She glanced out at the dance floor at her new group of friends, already liking them better than her _old_ group of friends. When she turned her attention back to her sidekick he was already handing her another cup of water, and she gave him a grateful smile.

 _♫ I know a guy who's tough but sweet ♫_  
_♫ He's so fine, he can't be beat ♫_  
_♫ He's got everything that I desire ♫_  
_♫ Sets the summer sun on fire ♫_

He kept his eyes on her as she drank. Peeking at him over the rim of the plastic cup, she decided he wasn’t so bad. Mean, sure. Grouchy, opinionated, a little too honest… but not so bad. Not tonight, at least. Not most nights.

“You ready to leave?” she yelled up at him. When he shrugged noncommittally she couldn’t help but laugh, though there was no way he’d be able to hear it. “Let me say goodbye, and then we’ll go.”

Sansa wandered out to the crowded dance floor to say her farewells, hugging and making promises to return though she doubted in reality that would ever happen. She exchanged phone numbers with Lisa and Donna and told them to call, surprised how much she meant it. And then she returned to the bar to collect her partner in crime, and within minutes they were strolling down a near-empty sidewalk towards the parking lot.

“Have a good time?”

She glanced up at him in apprehension. He was being so nice to her, taking her someplace to have fun, waiting patiently till she’d had enough, giving her water when any other guy would try to ply her with alcohol… and even that question, ‘ _Have a good time?,’_ might have _seemed_ nice, but he said it with so much indifference that she would think he didn’t truly care if she _did_ have a good time. The tone in his voice conflicted so completely with his words that it made her wonder if he regretted it, even though it was so like him to say something nice in a way that sounded mean.

“Yeah,” she told him honestly, though still uncertain if he cared. “That place is way better than the Sunset.”

“Way better,” he echoed her, almost mockingly. Wait… _was_ he mocking her? Why would he ask her a question then mock her answer, that was just so… typical, actually.

They walked in silence for a few moments, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement, till she looked up at him with a sly smile.

“Lisa thinks you’re hot.”

He scrunched up his nose without looking at her. “Who?”

“One of the girls I was dancing with. She told me.”

“And you didn’t introduce me?” he complained, giving her a wolfish grin that made his scars twist hideously, but all she could do was laugh.

“I’m not introducing you to a potential one-night-stand,” she insisted airily. “And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, I told her you were… taken.”

He came to a complete stop and held his arms out, stunned expression on his face. “You cock-blocked me?”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that,” she laughed again, mortified, but he was still looking at her like he was waiting for an answer. “Well, not _intentionally_. She assumed and I didn’t correct her, it was too loud in there to talk. And _then_ she said you were hot.”  

He narrowed his eyes at her, digesting her words. “And… if she _hadn’t_ assumed?”

There was a challenge in his question. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was challenging her on, but the way his eyes were blazing told her to tread lightly.

“Then… I suppose I would have told her you weren’t interested in girls.”

“Cock-blocked again,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible wingman.”

“Yeah, well… you’re an excellent babysitter,” she muttered without looking at him. “I appreciate it.”

And that was the truth- even with the conflicting messages he was being really nice to her, nicer than Joffrey ever was. Oh no, Joffrey was going to be _pissed_ when he heard about this. Right now, though… well, the damage was done, right? If she went home now it wouldn’t prevent him being angry with her later, so what difference did it make?

“You hungry?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

“Yeah,” she said softly, unsure if that was the right answer.

“Whatcha want?”

The idea that someone, anyone, would let her pick something was so novel that it took her a second to comprehend it. What did she want? Something cheap? Something fast and easy? Something the opposite of what Joff would pick? Truth be told, now that the power to choose was in her hands she mostly just wanted to be difficult, just to see what he would do.

“Steak."

“ _Steak?”_ he rasped, incredulous. “It’s the middle of the fucking night.”

“You asked,” she countered with a shrug.

He took a deep breath then sighed loudly, shook his head, rolled his eyes, glared at her- all the usual signs of his typical irritation with her. Her little game had backfired- if he hadn’t had enough of her before, her choice of food had pushed him over the edge, she was certain. And really, how could she blame him, when he’d just stood there for nearly three hours for no other reason than letting her do what _she_ wanted to do.

But before she could tell him to never mind, she understood, he narrowed his eyes at her and growled, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name those tunes!


	3. 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of angst, little bit of fluff, whole lot of confusion.  
> ______________________________

 

“This is not what I had in mind,” she protested when they pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, little bird. Out you go.”

Whoa, she was tired. Just getting out of the truck was a major event, and the lights in the restaurant hurt her eyes as they made their way inside and up to the hostess stand. Even at 3am the place was far from empty. She could see several pockets of drunken college students, loud and obnoxious and generally making a mess of the place. And if she knew anything about drunken college students it was that they didn’t always tip enough to compensate for their poor behavior.  

The hostess spied them from across the room, and Sansa saw her eyes grow wide and her mouth drop open before nudging the busboy next to her. When the busboy turned around and looked in their direction, his mouth dropped open too, and she finally realized what they were staring at.

Glancing up at Sandor, though, he looked completely unbothered.

The woman finally lumbered towards them, not meeting their eyes, and seemed nervous when she approached.

“Hi, welcome to Denny’s,” she said loudly, overly friendly. “Two tonight? Table or booth?”

“Booth.”  
“Table.”

Sansa’s head snapped in his direction, ready to insist that she get to choose, when it occurred to her _why_ he would prefer a table. It was funny, really, how she could easily forget his size until a little moment like this one. Of _course_ he wouldn't want a booth; he probably couldn't even _fit_ into a booth. Duh.

“Table,” she conceded.

The hostess nodded in earnest, looking like a bobble-head doll but not really looking at either one of them as she gathered up menus and rolled silverware. As she led them to their table, Sansa started to feel… well, a little offended on his behalf. He had just been called ‘hot’ by a young attractive woman at a bar, and now he was being gawked at by the Denny’s employees. Then again, it was easy for Lisa to think him hot when she saw him from a darkened distance. _Wonder if she’d think that now_ , she mused, then chastised herself for thinking something so mean.

The hostess led them to their seats, dropping the menus down on the table and mumbling that their waitress would be with them soon before quickly returning to the hostess station. She grabbed a chair and he slid into the seat opposite, pushing the table towards her side to give himself more room, and picked up a menu.

“See, look here, princess,” he rasped, pointing at a glossy picture. “They have… t-bones and… sirloin.”

“I wanted filet,” she sniffed haughtily. As long as he was calling her princess she’d play the part.

All in all, though, it wasn’t a terrible place to bring her. They offered their full menu, even in the middle of the night, so there was plenty to choose from, but as she flipped the laminated pages, debating chicken or fish, she got the uneasy feeling that she was being watched. After a minute, she realized it was _him_ , the Hound, just sitting across from her, slumped in the seat and arms crossed in front of him and staring at her. She met his hard silver eyes with her own and cocked her head in confusion.

“So you and the boy haven’t…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, just raised his eyebrows and gave her a smirk, and she narrowed her eyes at him, baffled. He couldn’t possibly be asking what she thought he was asking, right?

“You’re twenty-one years old, what are you waiting for? Marriage?”

He was _TOTALLY_ asking what she thought he was asking.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for marriage,” she muttered sarcastically and rolled her eyes back to the menu.

The waitress finally came to take their drink orders, clearly overworked by the way she refused to look at them or linger longer than was absolutely necessary. Or maybe she was also freaked out by the man sprawled wide at the table, permanent scowl on his ruined face. For the first time ever she started to really think about what his life must be like, with people constantly avoiding him so that they didn’t have to look at him. The scars weren’t even that big of a deal, really, not once you got used to them, but... how many people took the time to get used to them?

“What are you getting?” she asked, still flipping through the menu.

“T-bone. You?”

“Uh, I think maybe the lemon chicken, or the grilled tilapia.”

She saw him hold his arms out wide, incredulous expression on his face. “You asked for steak, I gave you steak.”

“Yeah, well, I mostly just said that to see what you would do,” she responded, smiling slyly.

He snorted once and shook his head, mouth pressed into a hard line as if unhappy with her answer. He couldn’t fool her, though, because his eyes burned bright in amusement. Their waitress returned with their drinks and quickly took their orders, never lifting her gaze from her order pad before leaving.

“So you gonna marry him?” he rasped when they were alone again, as nonchalant as if he had asked her to pass the salt.

“I suppose,” she shrugged indifferently. “If he asks.”

“Don’t you wanna take him out for a little test-spin before you sign the contract?”

Oh geez, was he back on this again? This was not something she was willing to talk about, with anyone, really, and definitely not with _him_. But he was looking at her with such a heated gaze that she was fairly certain she’d soon cave under the pressure. Heck, if she knew any top-secret military information she’d be spilling that in a heartbeat, her own secrets were going to be much harder to keep.

“It’s not really any of your business,” she said as firmly as she could.

“Nope,” he growled in agreement, but continued to stare her down.

God, why was he so concerned about her and… oh. Right, now she got it. She had forgotten for a moment that this was Joffrey’s friend, not hers, and if he asked a question she’d have to answer with that in mind. Not that she had a particularly good answer for him anyway. Joffrey had asked her plenty of times what her ‘problem’ was, but she’d never been able to put it in words that he understood. Maybe if she could make the Hound understand he could somehow explain it to Joffrey? Maybe? Her sleepy little brain seemed to agree, so even though she knew she probably shouldn’t, she dropped her eyes to the table and told him anyway.

“When I was in high school and all my friends started to… you know… it was always part of the discussion- who was doing it, who would be doing it next, how do you know if you should. I guess guys don’t really have those kinds of conversations, do they?” He confirmed her suspicion with an almost lazy shake of his head. “Anyway, the thing they all agreed on was that you should wait until you _wanted_ it. If you wanted it, then you were ready, but if you were only doing it to make him happy then you _weren’t_ ready. And… I guess that kind of stuck with me.”  

Whoa, god, where had that come from? That was the wrong answer, she knew immediately. Had she really just said that the reason she wouldn’t sleep with her boyfriend was because she didn’t _want_ him? When Joffrey heard about this he was going to be so pissed. She glanced nervously up at the Hound to gauge his reaction, but he was just as unreadable as ever, his eyes giving nothing away.

“What do your friends say now?” he asked quietly, sounding mostly apathetic.

“I don’t _have_ any friends now,” she answered with a hollow and bitter laugh. For a moment she wondered what kind of advice Margaery would give her in this situation, the idea of which amused her more than it probably should. But then she glanced up at the Hound again and was reminded of the seriousness of everything she had just said, the seriousness of what could happen next. “Are you going to tell Joffrey?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll come up some time during one of our many chats,” he sneered, then rolled his eyes. “I try to talk to Joffrey as little as possible.”

“I thought you were friends,” she exclaimed, perplexed. She only got more confused when he shook his head. “Then why do you always hang out with him?”

“Nothing else to do,” he rasped indifferently. “Why do _you_ always hang out with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not exactly nice to you. You have no interest in fucking him. Marrying him inspires as much excitement as a root canal. It all sounds very romantic, truly, but I kinda think you could do better.”

 _It’s a test!_ It had to be. He was doing his best to shake her down, to find out what she would say about her boyfriend even in the most trying of circumstances. That had to be what was going on- why else would he be saying these things? She had to say the right thing here. She _had_ to!

“No, I couldn’t,” she stammered lamely, trying to muster a little indignant outrage but falling hopelessly short. “And… you’re wrong. Of course I’m excited about marrying him. I… love him. Just because I’m not ready for… _everything_ … doesn’t mean I should break up with him. That’s ridiculous. And… he _is_ nice to me. He’s…” uh, where was she going with this? He’s what? A cheater? A liar? A spoiled little momma’s boy? All of those were definitely the wrong answer, but given how sleepy and rattled she was she really couldn’t think of anything better and ultimately settled on a generic “… a good boyfriend.”

 _“A good boyfriend?”_ the Hound echoed derisively, eyes flashing. “Yeah, cause a guy who fucks other girls, bosses you around, and tries to make you feel like shit is the _very definition_ of a good boyfriend.”

“Like _you’re_ any better,” she hissed without thinking.

He recoiled slightly and blinked in surprise, which quickly yielded to fury, though she really didn’t care if _he_ was mad at _her_ , not after all the things he’d just said. Whatever wicked mind-game he was playing with her she had no interest in playing along.

“We’re not talking about me,” he growled.

“No, I want to talk about you,” she snapped. “You’re all ‘you shouldn’t be with a guy who makes you feel bad,’ but you’re bound and determined to make me feel bad, too, so what _exactly_ is your point?”

Oh, she had definitely hit her mark with _that_ comment, judging by the way he glared at her. But before he could form a response the waitress arrived, cheerfully depositing their plates before retreating to the kitchen. He immediately grabbed his silverware and dug in, shaking pepper on his mashed potatoes and slicing up his steak as if they hadn’t _just_ been arguing. How he could sweep it all away so easily was beyond her. Frustrated, she spun her plate around and started stabbing at her broccoli. But then she heard him huff a small laugh- at _her?_ \- and felt the anger rise again.

 _“What?”_ she demanded. Geez, hadn’t he tormented her enough?

He looked over at her plate and waved his fork at it. “You always eat your vegetables first. Doesn’t matter what it is, where you are- you eat your vegetables, then your meat, then your starch or whatever. Always.” Then he went back to eating just as casually as he started.

Sansa sat frozen, mouth gaping and brows furrowed, fork hovering over her plate. He was right- she _did_ always eat her vegetables first. It was some sort of weird quirk she’d picked up, a compulsion to eat the healthiest thing before she got too full. She’d just never really thought about it before. Until now.

Part of her felt like spinning her plate around and eating her rice first- just to spite him, just to prove him wrong- but the other part felt like it wasn’t such a big deal that he was right. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing that she ate in a particular order. It wasn’t even a bad thing that he noticed, if anything it was... a little sweet. Joffrey sure as heck never noticed anything, and she ate more meals with him in the past two years than anyone else.

So she ate her broccoli first, because that’s what she would have done anyway, and after it was gone and before she cut into her chicken she glanced up at him.

“They’re playing ‘The Goonies’ all night at the dollar movies. Some sort of anniversary celebration thing. You… wanna go?”

“I hate that movie,” he grumbled through a mouthful of potatoes.

“You hate everything,” she shot back, meeting his eyes.

For a moment he looked like he was going to argue, but ultimately seemed to change his mind.

“Fine,” he relented, then swallowed. “But you’re buying.”

 


	4. 6am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to AdultOrphan and JenniLynn for previewing! Hope it's better with punctuation and adverbs and stuff. 
> 
> I really like this chapter. It's not as smooth as I wanted, but I still like it so I'm sharing.  
> _____________________________________________

♫ "What's good enough for you" ♫  
♫ "Is good enough for me" ♫  
♫ "It's good enough" ♫  
♫ "It's good enough for me" ♫  
♫ "Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah" ♫ 

“For fuck’s sake, would you stop singing?” he grumbled.

“Why?”

“Cause people are staring and it’s embarrassing.”

Sansa stopped and looked around the completely deserted parking lot before leveling her disbelieving gaze at him, but he did not back away from his original assertion.

“Hey, wanna see a picture?”

He looked down at her suspiciously. “Ok.”

So she got out her phone and opened it to the most recent picture she had taken- of him, sleeping in the movie theater, head slumped backwards and mouth hanging open.

He was shockingly unamused. “Delete that,” he growled at her.

“No way! That’s my evidence of how much fun you are.”

“If you show that to anyone I swear to god I’ll kill you.”

“You don’t believe in god.”

He raised his eyebrows momentarily but immediately dropped them back to his usual irritated expression. “Delete the fucking picture.”

“Why would I delete this?” she said with a mock pout, holding it up where he could see it but not reach it. “Awww, look how cute you are. All tuckered out from your busy day.”

“Man needs his sleep.”

“Hmm, I hear that’s what happens when you get old.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m putting this on Instagram,” she told him with a laugh. He shook his head but otherwise looked as amused as she was even though he wasn’t laughing and had threatened to kill her besides. And then they lapsed into silence, not exactly awkward, but she still wished she could think of something to say. Something to do. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, wasn’t ready for the night to end, and wasn’t ready to think about why she would feel that way when she was so exhausted.

“You hungry?” he asked her, reading her mind again. She _wasn’t_ hungry, but absent anything else to do, she rather wished she _was_. But she shook her head anyway and looked down so he couldn’t see her disappointment. “Coffee?”

Coffee! Yes, of course, why hadn’t she thought of that? “Alright,” she smiled up at him.

Ten minutes later they were at a Starbucks, waiting at a table for their drinks to be ready. It wasn’t very crowded, thank goodness, since it was 6am on a Saturday, so they didn’t have to wait too long.

“What the fuck is _that?”_

Sansa wrinkled her nose at him in confusion. “Coffee?”

“It looks like a damn milkshake.”

She glanced down at the icy confection in her hand, slathered in whipped cream and cookie crumbles with a chocolate drizzle visible on the inside of the cup.

“Tastes like one, too,” she giggled.

“How can you call that coffee?”

“Well, how do you take _your_ coffee?”

“Black,” he rasped simply.

Of course. She knew some people drank it that way, she just always assumed it was people on diets. Guess not. “You don’t use cream or sugar or anything?”

“Nah,” he grumbled. “I like my coffee how I like my women. Bitter.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Yeah, well, I like my coffee how I like my men…” She was going to say ‘sweet.’ She really was. But at the last second she held up her cup and answered “…covered in whipped cream.”

His eyes widened slightly for just a second, then he coughed and looked away. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and took a sip of coffee while she laughed at him, way too proud of herself to contain it. “Figured you didn’t do stuff like that, little bird.”

Now it was _her_ turn to be surprised. “People actually _do_ that? I thought it was just something they joked about! Ugh, can you imagine? It’s probably cold. And _sticky_. Or do you think it would be slippery? And then it would get stuck in my belly button, probably have to use your tongue to get it out…”

He groaned loudly. “Oh, hell, we are changing the subject right now. How about that weather we’re having, huh? Lovely fucking weather.”

She laughed sleepily at his sad attempt to change the subject, even though she couldn’t understand exactly _why_ he was so desperate to change it. But she played along anyway and sighed her agreement. “It actually _is_ lovely weather, isn’t it?”

Curiosity flashed in his eyes, and she realized that _something_ was wrong with what she’d said, though she couldn’t figure out what. He rested both arms on the table and leaned in, giving her a hard look.

“That’s not what I said,” he rasped, lips pressed together, expression unreadable.

“Yes it is,” she said uncertainly. That was _exactly_ what he said. Right?

“No, I said it was lovely fucking weather. Now you say it.”

 _Oh._ “No!” she insisted, mortified.

“Why not?”

“I can’t!”

“What do you mean, you _can’t?”_ he asked, mouth twitching.

Uh, what _did_ she mean? Think think think. “It’s… not proper.”

“Are you calling me improper?” he grumbled, smile tugging at the corner of his burned mouth.

“A little,” she said breathlessly, leaning in just a bit and matching his sly smirk.

“Ow, you hurt my feelings.” He clutched at his chest in a half-hearted representation of injury. “Come on, repeat after me: shit, damn, fucking hell.

Sansa took a deep breath. “Shoot, darn, frick on a stick.”

He laughed loudly at that for the first time all evening. It wasn’t even that funny, so maybe he was just super tired. “You’re such an infant,” he hissed.

“You know what- I choose to take that as a compliment. Thank you for the compliment!”

She caught the straw with her mouth and took a generous sip, smiling at him the whole time. His eyes never left hers either, and he looked amused though she wouldn’t go so far as to say he was _smiling_. Her coffee was gone, now. Usually she took the lid off and licked up the leftover whipped cream but somehow she knew better at this precise moment. Instead she just played with the straw.  

“You ready to go home, little bird?” he asked quietly after a few moments of silence.

“Not if I can think of something better,” she muttered without looking at him.

“What would be better?”

“Pretty much anything.”

He was looking at her hard, she could tell even though she wasn’t looking at _him_. But she knew he was trying to figure her out, trying to understand her thoughts, her motivations. She couldn’t really blame him for that. She didn’t even mind the way he looked at her, just as long as he didn’t take her home. Just... not yet.

He yawned loudly before speaking. “I know some place. You’ll need different shoes, though. I can take you home, let you change.

“I’ll be fine like this.”

He raised his eyebrows at her in obvious disbelief before leaning to the side to look pointedly at her strappy shoes, his eyes flicking up her legs and expression changing quickly to… something she didn’t want to think about. Not now, at least. By the time he sat upright and gave her an admonishing look she was feeling much warmer than the weather would indicate and was very certain that if she tried to walk right now she’d just be a clumsy fool. And it had nothing to do with her footwear.

“You won’t be comfortable in those,” he grumbled at her.

“I’ll manage.”

Again, he was just looking at her, eyes narrowed, mouth set firm. It was beginning to make her a little nervous, really, and her leg started bouncing all on its own while she fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.

“What are you running away from?” he asked gently.

“Nothing,” she insisted, tossing her head and laughing to show how ridiculous the question was. Geez, did he have to make it sound so dramatic? She didn’t want to go home yet. So what? But he was looking at her with that question still hanging between them, so she tried to give him the most logical answer she could come up with. “It’s just… I don’t even _like_ that apartment.”

"I don’t like my apartment either, I still go there when I’m tired."

“But you got to pick it, didn’t you?”

“Hell yeah, I got to pick it. I get to pay for it, too.”

She should have known better. There was no way he would understand what she was saying, not when she was too tired to explain it properly. He probably wouldn’t understand it anyway, probably thought she was a spoiled little rich girl who had nothing to complain about. And maybe that was true. So why did she feel like this, like she wanted to leave it all behind?

“Yeah, I know, I have it easy,” she admitted after a few seconds. “It’s just… no one ever even asks me what I want. No one even cares. They just pick what they think is good for me and expect me to go along with it. And I always do. Even school. My parents picked my school cause they said it was the best school for my major, but they picked my major, too. They picked my whole career.”

“Which is?” he rasped, almost derisive.

“I’m majoring in art history so that after I graduate my dad can pull some strings and get me a job as a museum curator. Because I’ve ‘always liked art.’ And because after I have a family they’ll let me cut back on my hours.” She’d never liked the plan, truthfully, but saying out loud how her parents had mapped out her future specifically to facilitate grandchildren somehow made it sound even worse.

 _“Do_ you like art?”

“I don’t _dislike_ art,” she shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“So what would you do if it was up to you?” he asked, but all she could do was look at him blankly, suspicious of his question. Which he completely misread, because his curiosity yielded suddenly to disbelief. “You don’t even _know?”_

Actually… she did know. Or at least, she had an idea. But talking about it- the thing she wanted, the thing she wasn’t allowed to have- was somehow more than she was capable of doing. Contrary to popular belief she wasn’t completely stupid, she was just… weak. She knew it now, if she never knew it before. Looking up into his eyes at that moment, she knew he knew it, too.

“A girl without an opinion is a girl that’s easy to control,” he rasped, firm but gentle.

“I’m not a girl,” she retorted lamely, deliberately missing his point, but he was absolutely not going to let her get away with that.

“Fine,” he growled, eyes narrowed. “A _woman_ without an opinion is a _woman_ that’s easy to control. Is that better?”

No, actually… that was worse. “What do _you_ do?”

He paused only a second before answering. “I’m a massage therapist.”

Sansa squinted at him, deep in thought. She’d had a massage before- several times, actually. She remembered how the rooms were always darkened, with soft music and aromatherapy and warm blankets- it was peaceful, and relaxing. She tried to imagine this man in such an atmosphere but it just didn’t fit. How could he be so grumpy if he spent so much time surrounded by Zen? And besides… his hands were so _rough_.

“Really?” she asked, hoping he didn’t take offense.

“No,” he admitted. “But it’s a great pick-up line.”

Her mouth dropped wide open for a moment till she forced herself to close it. “That can’t possibly work!”

“You’d be surprised,” he countered, his face twisted up into a smug little smirk.

“But… what happened to never telling a lie?”

“That’s not a lie. The massages I give are _very_ therapeutic.”

“Oh my god, I don’t want to know,” she muttered, dropping her face into her hands so he couldn’t see her blush. “What do you _really_ do?”

“What do you _think_ I do?”

Sansa peered up at the man, willing her brain to conjure all the knowledge of him she’d ever collected so that she could make a logical guess. But her brain was apparently napping, so she just went with something completely unlikely. “Pediatrician.”

“Well I do love kids,” he rasped sarcastically, and she giggled weakly at the very idea. And after the silence made it clear she wouldn’t be making any more guesses, he finally answered. “I’m in construction.”

That… actually made a lot of sense. “I can see that,” she nodded.

“You can?” he asked, one eyebrow raised curiously. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, staring intently at the cup in her hands. “Cause… you seem like the kind of guy who builds things. To fix things up, make them better. Also… your hands are really rough.”

She laughed a little when she said it, but he made no comment, no snort of derision or sigh of irritability, and she wondered for a heartbeat if she’d said the wrong thing. But when she looked at him again he didn’t look upset, he looked… softer, somehow. Or maybe he was just really tired.

“Come on little bird,” he said, standing up to leave. “I’ll take you to Walmart so you can get something more comfortable.”

She followed his lead, tossing her empty cup in the trash can before walking with him out to the parking lot, grateful he hadn’t suggested taking her home again. It must have been the extreme exhaustion that made her want to throw an arm around his waist. Fortunately, the coffee was doing its job, and she kept her hands to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes the SECOND modern AU where I mention milkshakes. I don't know why, lol.


	5. 7am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was way harder than it should have been considering there's no sex, lol.
> 
> Thanks to firedew for her very patient tutorial on how to make (and post) a picset. It's god-awful, I know, but this is basically how I'm envisioning Sansa while I'm writing this thing. I was pretty much going for ridiculous, hope I succeeded. 
> 
> Also thanks to AdultOrphan for her suggestion. This zoo is based largely on the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. I've never been there, but they thankfully have a website.  
> ________________________________________

 

 

The Walmart parking lot was emptier than she’d ever seen it, but he still parked far away from the building and cut the engine.

“Alright, little bird. Out you go.

He reached over and opened her door for her, his upper arm brushing against her breast though they both pretended not to notice.

“You’re not coming in?”

“I’m not following you around Walmart while you shop. I’ll wait here.”

Sansa squinted warily in his direction. She couldn’t really blame him for not wanting to go shopping, but watching him slouch comfortably in the driver’s seat she was suddenly suspicious of his motives. “You’re gonna sleep, aren’t you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he grumbled, dropping his head backwards and closing his eyes. “Take your time.”

Her laugh was too weak to make any noise, so she didn’t have to bother stifling it when she got out of his truck and gently closed the door. He sure was being… hmm, what _was_ he being? Nice, yes. And patient, maybe even friendly. She imagined his snort of derision at her complimentary musings and even _that_ made her laugh a little, this time out loud, and she clapped a hand over her mouth so no one would wonder about the girl wandering around alone, laughing to herself. Fortunately this was Walmart, and she wasn’t even _close_ to the strangest thing in there.

It didn’t take her long to get what she needed since her only requirements were that they fit and be comfortable, and soon she was back in the parking lot, approaching his truck with its noticeably-sleeping occupant. She could never get away with napping in a Walmart parking lot, she wouldn’t even be able to relax for fear that someone might see her and try to rob her or carjack her or something. Sandor Clegane obviously had no such fears. He hadn’t even locked the door, for heaven’s sake, so when she was climbing back up into the cab he opened his eyes and looked at her, puzzled.

“Why didn’t you change while you were in there?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, peering at him in confusion before holding up her new shoes. “Look- they were on sale for $6. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, wrinkling his nose at the multi-colored monstrosities. “You didn’t get anything else?”

“I got some scrunchies. They were only a dollar.”

“You didn’t get anything _else?”_

“Like what?” she demanded sleepily. God, what was he getting at?

“I don’t know. A t-shirt? Some blue jeans? _Anything?_ Look at what you’re wearing.”

She looked down at her clothes just as he instructed, even though she already _knew_ what she was wearing. The dress was actually a lot more comfortable than it might seem, so she hadn’t even thought about changing out of it while she was shopping; he’d said she needed different shoes, and that’s what she got.

“Go back in there and get something else,” he waved dismissively, closing his eyes and leaning his head back again.

Wha… did he just _wave_ at her? Like he was some pretentious king dismissing his loyal subject?

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Sandor opened his eyes and looked at her like she’d suddenly grown an extra head.

“You’re not _fine,”_ he sneered at her. “You can’t keep wearing that. Go get something else.”

“I can wear whatever I want to,” she countered, getting more and more irritated with his attitude.

“Can you now?” he mocked her. “Did _you_ pick that dress?”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat at the question, and she crossed her arms with a huff. She didn’t answer him. She didn’t _need_ to answer him, because if he knew enough to ask the question in the first place then he already knew that Joffrey had picked the dress.

“Go back in there and get something else,” he repeated, more forcefully than before.

“I don’t want to.”

“ _Go_ , Sansa!”

Wow, he was being… _awful_. So it hadn’t occurred to her to get some other clothes- who could blame her for that, she was exhausted. But he could have just _suggested_ that she go back in, and she probably would have. Instead he had _ordered_ her to go back in. And she had too many men in her life who ordered her around, she certainly didn’t need one more.

“I’m not changing,” she told him, pulling her seatbelt across her chest and buckling with an air of finality. “And I don’t need to hear any more on this from _you.”_

 _“Excuse me?”_ he snarled, his voice lifting at the end, but his rising anger only made hers rise with it.

“I mean I don’t want your opinion on this.”

“My _opinion?_ It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact! You know I’m right.”

“What I _know_ is that I have enough people telling me what to do.”

He bristled noticeably at that, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. “So you’re not going to change just to spite me? That’s very mature. You’d rather stomp around town in that _thing_ that Joff dressed you in...”

“Joffrey is my _boyfriend_. He has more right to _dress_ me than you do to… _undress_ me.”

Somewhere way way way back in the deepest recesses of her mind she knew there was something a little… off… about what she’d just said, but she was also very certain that she was right and had made a valid point. He must have known it, too, because when she looked up at him again he was shaking, his face twisted terribly in anger, eyes blazing hot. It made her nervous, honestly, seeing him like that, but his words still echoing in her head made her unwilling to yield. So she held his gaze, unpleasant as it was, until he finally jammed his key into the ignition and started the truck.

When he pulled out of the parking lot and took a left on Kings Road towards her apartment, Sansa started to worry he was taking her home. Would he really do that, knowing she didn’t want to go yet? No, he wouldn’t- he might be mad at her, but he would still try to make her happy. She didn’t know _why_ she was so certain of it, but she was, and quickly set about changing her shoes for whatever he had planned next.

“Get your foot off my dash,” he complained, swatting at her with an enormous hand but not making any actual contact. “What are you, eleven years old?”

She quickly dropped her foot but didn’t let his chastisement bother her, because she’d seen the look on his face when she propped her leg up like that and it had _not_ been a look of annoyance. When he drove right by her apartment complex she finally allowed herself to relax a little, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of the city zoo, she understood why he was so adamant that she change.  

“Are they even open this early?” she asked, just a little hopeful that maybe his plan would be thwarted.

“7am, every day,” he responded, still annoyed but… calmer. Either he wasn’t as mad as before or the exhaustion had caught up with him. Maybe both. After they climbed out of his truck, he walked around to the passenger side to join her, looking over her outfit with a disapproving shake of his head as she pulled her hair up into one of her new scrunchies.  

“You look ridiculous,” he muttered.

“I look _amazing,”_ she corrected, then confidently headed towards the entrance.

Strolling up to the zoo wearing last night’s dress, a $6 pair of rainbow sneakers, makeup completely gone and hair a disaster… it was hands-down the weirdest walk-of-shame in history. At first she was worried what people would think of her, seeing her like that, but… ah, screw it. If people wanted to stare, they could stare.

There was really hardly anyone at the zoo at that time of day since the main attractions didn’t open until later, but they could still wander around and look at the sleepy animals. Sansa had always loved this zoo when she was a child, though she hadn’t been in many years. It was a shame, really, that she considered a trip to the zoo childish when it was just as interesting now that she was an adult.

Sandor seemed to agree. Well, he _had_ picked it, so obviously he liked it, but he still paused at every exhibit to look at the animals as if seeing them for the first time. She noticed he went to great lengths to keep his damaged side away from her, sometimes awkwardly walking _past_ her for no apparent reason. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do that but wasn’t sure how to bring it up, if it would bother him that she even mentioned it. So she said nothing, but any time he was standing on her right she would come up with an excuse to keep him there- a quick question, an interesting comment, a request for assistance. After a while he seemed to relax a bit but again, he might just have been too tired to care.

The animals were clearly just rousing from sleep as most of them hardly moved. They were still fun to look at, though, and Sansa especially loved the baby red pandas, the adorable crowned lemurs, the tiny klipspringers - basically anything that was cute or bouncy. The lions made her nervous, the giraffes fascinated her, but it was the red wolves that really got her attention, though she couldn’t say why. The reptile house was closed at that time of morning, not that she was complaining.  

“Look, little bird, it’s your family.”

Sansa turned to see where he was pointing and spied a group of tiny birds, extremely overfed, hopping around on the sidewalk, peeping and pecking… oh god, she could _not_ stop laughing at that. It was just so silly, and the fact that one of them sort of looked like Bran only made it worse.

“Knock it off,” he growled at her, though he was obviously amused. “It’s not that funny.”

“I know!” she agreed, and slowly managed to get her merriment back under control.

There was a small crowd around the gorilla enclosure since it was breakfast time and a zookeeper was feeding the giant beast. Or _attempting_ to feed it. The ape had clearly woken on the wrong side of whatever bed he slept in, because instead of eating any of the food that was offered he simply lobbed it back at the zookeeper with an annoyed grunt.

“Grouchy,” Sansa mumbled, frowning at the visibly-irritated ape.

Sandor snorted at her comment. “Wouldn’t you be grouchy if you were stuck in a zoo your entire life, people gawking at you?”

“I wasn’t talking about _him,”_ she countered playfully.

He snorted again, not at all confused about _who_ she was referring to. “Look… look at that brat,” he said suddenly, indicating a young boy waving desperately to get the gorilla’s attention, yelling and calling to him as if the ape were going to come over and play. “Little asshole. Everyone wants to taunt the gorilla cause he’s big and strong and ugly.”

“And old,” Sansa said, pointing to a sign proclaiming _this_ gorilla to be aged thirty.

He leaned in- maybe a little closer than necessary- to see where her finger rested on the sign and huffed once in either protest or agreement, she didn’t know. “He’s still big and strong,” he rasped against her ear before turning to walk away.

“And not that ugly,” she added softly though she wasn’t sure if he heard her or even if she _wanted_ him to hear her.

They headed together towards the exit, just in time to pass the beginnings of what looked to be a highly-questionable birthday party as scores of little kids went screaming by with red-faced parents racing after them carrying presents.

“Looks like we beat the rush,” Sandor muttered, amused.

Back in the parking lot again, ambling lazily towards his truck, she knew what she wanted to do next and tugged at his sleeve to make him stop. “So… now that we’ve done the zoo, is it my turn to pick again?”

“Depends,” he sighed. “Does it involve sleeping?”

“Not quite.”

He looked so tired when he squinted down at her that she thought _surely_ he’d had enough, he’d take her home no matter what, so even though the sun was hurting her eyes she gave him the most charming and hopeful smile she could muster. And after a moment he said those three little words, the ones every girl dreams of hearing, the ones that Joffrey never ever said to her no matter how hard she tried-

“Whatever you want.”


	6. 9am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know they have to be really freaking tired at this point, and it's only going to get worse! I'm feeling all sorts of sadistic, lol.

She didn’t tell him where they were going, only gave directions on how to get there, because she didn’t want him to have a chance to argue. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled as Skateland USA came into their view. She couldn’t even answer him, she was laughing so hard.

“Do you have socks?” the old man at the entrance asked her pointedly. She did _not_ have socks, hadn’t bothered to get any when she was in Walmart, and now had to fork over the extra $3 to meet the sock-requirement. Between admission, skate rental, and cheap socks, the entire event put them back $11, which was probably way more than it was worth.

It had truthfully been a while since she’d been there, but she still didn’t remember the place being so… awful. There was dark carpet over everything, even the walls, with some sort of galactic pattern on it that glowed under black light. Music was pouring from crackling speakers, a sad concession area was tucked in one corner, the remnants of an old-fashioned arcade were tucked in another. And the kids… there were kids everywhere, all horrible at skating, and she wondered for just a moment if maybe they should leave.

They’d each been given little tickets to redeem for skates, which she immediately went to do while Sandor wandered off to the bathroom.

Her skates were heavy and ugly and kinda _gross_ , and it was awkward trying to put them on while wearing that particular outfit. But she managed, and soon she was testing out her abilities while she waited for him to return. Wow, this was nothing like when she used to come every weekend with Jeyne, back when they would do tricks and race each other and speed skate… now she was lucky enough to stay upright, and glanced around to see where the Hound was and if he was watching. She could see him over at the counter talking to the man who passed out skates, but then he turned and walked towards her, empty-handed, and her heart started pounding.

“You’re not skating?” she asked when he came into earshot.

“Uh, _no.”_

Sansa was ready to panic. Had he really come with her just so he could sit in a corner and ignore her? Was he so against skating that he would make her go out there all by herself? Was this some sort of game to make her change her mind? Did he really think…

“Do you want to hear the good news?” When she looked at him with eyebrows raised he continued. “This crappy skating rink you dragged me to is such a dump they don’t care if I go out on the floor in my boots.”

“So… you’ll stay with me?” she began tentatively. For a moment she thought he really _was_ going to make her skate by herself, but then he nodded- once- and she sighed in relief. “Good, I need someone to hold me up. Turns out, I suck at skating.”

Skating on the carpet was bad enough; stepping out onto the rink was way worse, the wheels rolling with ease and threatening to fling her to the ground. She clung to him desperately, terrified of making a fool of herself, though it was near impossible to skate _and_ hold on for dear life.

“Damn, woman, you’re like a fucking octopus.”

“I don’t want to fall.”

“You’re stretching out my shirt!”

“I don’t want to fall!”

He came to a complete stop on the rink, ignoring the traffic flying all around while he impatiently peeled her hands off of him. Then he held his arm out in front of her- just one arm- and she grabbed onto it for support while he led her around the rink like a man training a gimpy new-born colt. Geez, he was strong. How he could hold his arm out like that while she tugged and fell on it was beyond her.

Someone whizzed by and her feet shot out from under her- just a little, really- but it must have taken Sandor by surprise judging by the way he lurched forward to catch her, his free arm going quickly around her waist.

“Fucking hell, Sansa!”

Sansa could hear the shocked gasps from the group of elementary school kids on her right, then watched as every single one of them wiped out in a pitiful heap.

“Oh, look what you did…” she admonished her grouchy companion.

“Serves them right,” he grumbled. “Who sends a bunch of toddlers out on roller skates?”

“They’re not toddlers! They’re like… seven or eight.”

“That doesn’t make them toddlers?” he asked, peering down at her in confusion. “Well, I guess you would know, practically a toddler yourself.”

“Are you making fun of my age? Cause that goes both ways, old man.”

“Too old for _this_ shit, that’s for damn sure.”

She laughed softly at his complaint- how he could be so gruff and so much fun at the same time was beyond her, but she didn’t want to think about it too much, not when she needed to focus on staying standing. She certainly wouldn’t be winning any races any time soon, that was for sure. But she was getting better, a little more confident with every lap, though she never let go of the arm he held out to her; it was less a necessity and more a safety net, one she wasn’t ready to give up.

There were so many kids there, adults too, and parents helping their children learn much like Sandor was helping her. As they made their way around to the main seating area, one man pulled out in front of them, his two kids in tow. He was wearing a tank top, exposing large biceps and one very colorful tattoo. A snake? No, it was different… as she got closer she squinted her eyes to focus. It was a dragon, she realized, its body long and anguine, clawed feet appearing to dig into his skin and fire reaching up onto his shoulder. They passed the family on the inside, and as they did Sansa turned her head just a little to see more of the man’s tattoo. There were scales on the dragon, she realized, making it seem so lifelike, and it looked like there was…

“Are you checking that guy out?” Sandor growled into her left ear.

“Of course not!” she insisted, though she could tell by his expression and tone that he already knew she wasn’t. “I was just looking at his tattoo.”

“You got a problem with tattoos?”

“No. Why, do _you_ have a problem with tattoos?”

“Got several myself, so no.”

 _“Really?”_ How did she not know that? How had she known this man for two years and not known that he had tattoos? “Where?”

He smirked at her briefly, then lead her into the middle of the rink where he faced her and began describing his various tattoos and where they were, starting with the three dogs on his chest. Her eyes dutifully went to wherever he pointed and she had to keep telling herself that it wasn’t inappropriate to look at his body like that. She had asked about his tattoos, after all; if anything it would have been inappropriate to NOT look at his body. And heavens knew she didn’t want to be _rude_ to the man, not after he’d been so nice to her.

By the time he pointed down at his right leg her sleepy brain had tuned his voice out. Geez, he was big. She couldn’t even imagine what kind of tattoo would be on a canvas so large, his thigh alone was almost as big as her waist. _His_ waist was as big as… uh, something big- a tree or something, probably a redwood- and probably flat and hard, too, and muscular and so very wide. Not so wide that she couldn’t wrap her legs around him, but… no, dear god, what was she _thinking?_ She hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped talking, her mind had wandered off into the very worst of places and he was looking down at her with an amused expression that made her think maybe he knew. So she subtly took a calming breath in an effort to compose herself before meeting his eyes,

“Wanna know a secret? You can’t tell Joffrey.” He gave her a look that said he’d rather eat nails than talk to Joffrey, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “I have one too.”

His surprised expression was exactly what she was hoping for. “You’re joking. Where?” Holding on to him for support, she turned slightly and pointed to the location of her artwork, on the lower left of her back, right where her waist flared into her hips. “What is it? Wait, let me guess. A unicorn. No, a kitten. No, one of those animals you liked at the zoo- those bouncing gazelle things.”

“Klipspringers,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “And no, it’s not, it’s… a wolf.” She couldn’t even look at him when she said it, afraid of his reaction, afraid it was somehow the wrong answer and he would mock her or say it was silly. But then she finally met his eyes, and he only seemed… interested.

“I wanna see.”

“Not _now,”_ she exclaimed, looking around the skating rink and its throngs of beginner to intermediate skaters. When she glanced back up at him she could see the question in his eyes, and knew what he was thinking. _Not now. But maybe later._ She did nothing to dissuade him from that train of thought.

“And Joffrey doesn’t know?”

“No one knows,” she admitted. “Just… you.”

The ridiculousness of the situation didn’t escape her- the way they were shouting a private conversation in the middle of a skating rink, looking into each other’s eyes as people whirled around in a blur of color, a disco ball overhead casting stars over them while techno music blared loudly through outdated speakers... it was like being in some cheesy rom-com. She couldn’t say if it was better or worse when he finally took her hands and led her back out into the low-speed traffic.

She was still a little shaky, and when he held his arm out to her she gratefully took it, but not before noticing the deep indentations her nails had made. She’d held too tightly to him in her desperation to keep from falling, and he had never complained, not even once.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m always nice to you,” he protested.

“No, you’re not!”

He didn’t say anything at first, only seemed unsure of how to answer, but finally he responded without looking at her. “When have I _not_ been nice to you?”

“Seriously? You’re always yelling at me about something. Or mocking me. Usually you snap and growl but you haven’t tonight, so what gives?”

 _“Tonight?”_ he mocked, proving her point. “Are we still calling this night?”

“Fair enough,” she agreed. “But you still haven’t told me why you’re suddenly being so nice.”

“I’m not _suddenly_ being nice,” he sneered, not meeting her eyes. “Just cause I’m too fucking tired to ‘snap and growl’ at you doesn’t mean I’m doing anything different than I normally would.”

“Yes, you are,” she insisted, but he only shook his head at her, still not meeting her eyes. “So… two years ago, when you yelled at me and called me an empty-headed little bird… if I had asked you to take me roller skating you would have?”

“Yep.”

It was as if she’d been doused in cold water, the way her breath left her when he answered. She hadn’t expected him to say that, to be honest, had always assumed he hated her. Instead he just told her he’d always had her back, even when it didn’t seem that way, and… it was kinda nice, actually, comforting in a way she didn’t realize she needed comforting.

“So you’ll take me wherever I want?”

“Unfortunately,” he conceded, not at all pleased.

“Then take me to the ladies room,” she ordered with a flourish.

“Your command is my command,” he quipped, and she laughed like an idiot as he wheeled her towards the restrooms.

To say the bathroom was a disgusting cesspool would be a generous review. It was a nightmare- it took her all of two seconds to decide she didn’t want to touch a single thing in the entire room and beat a hasty but cautious retreat. She saw him sitting on a bench, playing with his phone, exuding irritability in a way that only he could. He _had_ to be tired, _had_ to regret putting up with her, doing things he didn’t want to do, saying things he never meant to say. It made her feel… she wasn’t entirely certain _what_ she felt, just that she wanted to see how much more of her he was willing to tolerate.

She shuffled inelegantly towards him, arms stuck awkwardly out to the side like some deranged little bird, and landed in a heap at his side.

“Do you have any quarters? There’s a gumball machine over there and I wanna get some stickers.”

He was _not_ amused. “What the… are you trying to relive your childhood? Next you’ll be wanting to play hopscotch or go bowling or something.”

Sansa’s eyes went wide. “There’s a bowling alley right next door! We can do that next!”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No. And no complaining, it was your idea.”

“It was NOT.”

“Yes, it was, you brought it up that makes it your idea. Have you ever been?”

“Not since I was a kid,” he admitted unhappily.

“Me, neither! We used to go all the time with this day camp I went to every summer. I got a patch for getting 35 pins in one game.”

“That’s not good,” he sneered.

Sansa turned to him and cocked her head. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” he responded blandly.

“Sounded like a challenge to me. You think you can beat me at bowling, mister?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, so… care to make it interesting?”

“Not really,” he rasped, shaking his head with zero enthusiasm.

“How about… winner gets to pick the next thing we do, and the loser has to pay.”

There was a very long pause as he seemed to consider her offer. Or maybe he was trying to figure out how to get away from her. She didn’t really know _what_ he was thinking when he turned and looked at her, tired eyes flitting very quickly over the features of her face. But then he nodded, almost reluctantly, and she giggled at his weakness, and before she knew it her skates were returned and they were walking back out into the parking lot, even slower than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all been skating lately? I know JenniLynn has, lol, but the last time I went it was a rude awakening, it was just awful. Talk about ruining some childhood memories.


	7. 10am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is about this chapter, but it's... unhappy. Not quite angsty, maybe they're too tired for angst, lol.
> 
> Thanks Lady Clara for your bowling ramp suggestion!

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked her when they climbed back into his truck.

“Charging my phone.”

“I need to charge _my_ phone,” he growled, unplugging her device and plugging his own in.

“But you’ve used it every single time so far, don’t you think it’s my turn?”

“It’s _mine.”_

“But my phone is almost dead,” she protested. “Look, I’m down to 2%.”

“And you think I’m supposed to let you use it just because you say it’s your turn?”

Looking up at him, seeing the challenge in his eyes, the way he raised his eyebrows at her… she knew what he was getting at. She didn’t _like_ it, but she knew, and also knew he was probably right.

“May I use your charger, please?” she inquired sweetly.

“Of course you may!” he answered with overly-friendly enthusiasm. “Thanks for asking!” Oh, he was being silly, and she laughed at his sarcastic hospitality because somehow it worked on him. “I’m starving, we’re grabbing something to eat first.”

“But we just ate."

He turned and gave her an incredulous look, mouth agape. “Six _hours_ ago!”

“Sissie,” she teased. “You probably want a nap, too.”

“As a matter of fact…” he mumbled, putting his truck in gear and exiting the parking lot. They got stuck at the very first red light they reached, which gave them a minute to survey their surroundings and identify their meager options. “Alright, so your choices are… McDonalds, Hardee’s, Burger King, or… Taco Bell.”

“Ugh.”

“Sorry princess, this is what’s around. Pick.”

He looked over at her then and smiled, almost shyly, and she returned his smile in much the same way.   This wasn’t so bad, hanging out with someone, trying to figure out what to eat and what to do next. She could get used to this, get used to the way he was looking at her. But that look evaporated much like her mood did when her phone buzzed once on the console between them and they both glanced down to see who it was.

> Joffrey: Sunset tonight, pick you up @9, wear green dress

For a moment they just sat there, not moving or speaking, but… oh, gosh, it was nothing! So her boyfriend texted her the details for tonight, shouldn’t that have been anticipated? By _both_ of them? Nothing had to change, she didn’t have to feel this way when she hadn’t done anything wrong. So she ignored the text and stepped back into the moment.

“Taco Bell,” she said definitively.

“Seriously?”

“I haven’t been there in forever. Maybe it’s gotten better.”

“Doubtful,” he grumbled, but still pulled into the Taco Bell parking lot.

10am on a Saturday wasn’t exactly prime lunch time, so they pulled up to the order window before she had time to think what she wanted. When she hesitated, stating that she couldn’t even remember what they offered, he reminded her (not very politely) that they serve _tacos._ So she asked for two and said nothing else, forking over the money despite his protests that he could cover it.

They had just finished ordering and were pulling around to the pick-up window when her phone buzzed again. She didn’t even touch it, as if contact with the device would somehow ruin the illusion that she never saw the message. But she _did_ see it. And so did the Hound.

> Joffrey: Hello? You gonna say anything?

No, actually… she wasn’t. And she was playing with fire here, she knew that. Joffrey expected a quick response of agreement, not silence, and certainly didn’t expect to hear that his girlfriend hadn’t even made it home last night. _Last night._ For all Joffrey knew she was dead in a ditch somewhere, he didn’t bother to even check and see if she made it home. He never did.

As the cashier was passing their lunch out the window to them, her phone started ringing, its familiar cheerful tune filling the cab. Her heart was pounding- she couldn’t talk to Joffrey, not now. She’d have to lie to him, tell him she’d been home the entire time, and Sandor would hear her lie, and… she didn’t _want_ to lie about him. It felt wrong, somehow, to deny all the thoughtful things he’d done for her, even more wrong than ignoring her own boyfriend. Which is what she was doing, of course, and continued to do, when she reached out to her phone and flipped the volume to ‘mute.’

The Hound, for the most part, did a great job of pretending not to notice her buzzing phone, ignoring its mute ringing as he handed over her tacos then pulled into a parking space so they could eat. But the phone was insistent, and as much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t even hear it she instead found herself glancing down every single time to see what it said. She knew the Hound was glancing, too.

> Joffrey: Don’t be rude, call me back now  
>  Joffrey: I’m not fucking kidding  
>  Joffrey: Cunt

It sure was nice to see Joffrey rearing his usually charming head. And the sad part was, his tiny tantrum and name-calling wasn’t even the worst she’d ever had to endure from him. And it helped, a little, tempered the uneasiness she was feeling, but the Hound had seen the texts, too, and now knew this was exactly the kind of controlling attitude she usually tolerated. So in addition to feeling incredibly guilty, she also felt utterly mortified.

“Great, now I’m not even hungry,” she muttered, pushing her food aside. “$2.67 worth of crappy tacos gone to waste.”

“I think you can handle the loss, princess.”

Geez, did he have to mock her? Now? Couldn’t he tell she was already upset? “Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Princess.”

“Why do you think?”

“Because you think I’m spoiled.” He didn’t try to deny it, which was good, because she wouldn’t have argued. She _was_ spoiled. Looking at the Hound right now, though, she rather felt he was part of the problem. “I like Little Bird better.”

He hesitated only a moment before answering, “me, too.” They sat in companionable silence for a while, him eating, her holding her untouched tacos. At least her phone wasn’t buzzing anymore, and the brief respite was enough for her to regain her calm.

“You need a nickname,” she chirped over at him.

“I already have a nickname,” he grumbled, taking an inelegant bite of his burrito.

“What, ‘the Hound?’ I can’t call you that, it’s too weird.”

Well, he was clearly offended by _that_ comment. “How is it weird?” he snarled.

“Would you like my tacos, ‘the Hound?’”

“You don’t have to say ‘the.’ And no, you need to eat your tacos before you fall over from malnutrition.”

“I’m not hungry. And I’ll think of something, you can’t be the Hound forever.”

He shook his head at her, eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong with just Sandor?”

“But you’ve always been just Sandor.”

“Yeah, I know,” he rasped softly, slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that made her heart patter a little faster. There was something almost bitter in his tone, but she couldn’t really analyze it like she wanted to because her phone started buzzing again, another call coming in. She ignored it.

“If you don’t want to answer it, you could just hit decline,” he suggested in a low growl.

“But then he’ll know I saw him calling.”

Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. “You could turn it off.”

“No, I can’t, what if someone important needs to get ahold of me?”

The significance of her words was not lost on either of them- someone important, but not Joffrey. He’d yet to leave a voicemail, thankfully, since those were usually far worse than the texts. But the texts hadn’t ceased, either, and every buzz of her phone was another twist in her gut.

> Joffrey: Stop fucking with me, call me back  
>  Joffrey: I can make you pay for this, you know

It was amusing, really, how her attitude changed then. Usually these kinds of texts left her feeling queasy, unsure of what to expect when she finally did respond. But now… it was almost _fun_ teasing him like this, dangling her attention in front of him without giving it to him, while he went bonkers on the other end, like a deranged kitten angry with his toy. The idea of it made her laugh bitterly.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. Not really, it’s just… He _abandoned_ me at the Sunset, has no idea if I made it home last night, can’t get ahold of me, and instead of being worried he’s just annoyed. It’s just… typical.”

“Well, that’s your boy…and you picked him,” he muttered. And suddenly her attitude was different. Was he _judging_ her for this? He’d already made it clear what he thought of her being with Joffrey, and now he was… what, rubbing it in? Not only was he part of the problem, but he spent just as much time with Joffrey as she did; he was just as bad as she was, so why would he mock her for it?

“If you dislike him so much, stop hanging out with him.”

“I’ll stop when you stop,” he countered, meeting her gaze with unreadable eyes.

Wha… what did that mean? Ah, she was too tired for games, really, just wanted to have a little more fun, wanted things to be easy between them again, like they were before Joffrey called.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she told him, switching back to the playful tone she had used earlier, hoping desperately he would follow her lead. “You’re trying to pick a fight with me because you’re nervous I’m gonna spank you at bowling.”

He snorted once at her comment, then crumpled up his wrappers and glanced at her with a mischievous look. “We’ll see who spanks who.” She giggled at his challenge, not at all ashamed of herself for her poor choice of words, as he pulled out of the Taco Bell parking lot and headed towards the bowling alley.

They didn’t have any bowling shoes in Sandor’s size; Sansa thought it was _hilarious_. Between her raucous laughter and the Hound’s furious scowl, the poor clerk was clearly too nervous to function and finally gave in and said it would be ok if Sandor just wore his boots. It took the entire walk over to their lane to calm herself down, but when Sandor wandered back up to the frightened clerk to ask if they had ‘any fucking balls heavier than 16 pounds’ she was set off once again.

It was all that laughter, she told herself, that made her so bad at bowling.

Sandor was just as bad as she was, except that he threw the ball so hard he could knock pins over from the violent ricochet alone, sometimes knocking pins over on adjoining lanes. So he was winning, unfortunately. Sansa considered demanding a rematch only halfway through the game, but the manager kept glaring at them so she didn’t think it would be a good idea to stay longer than necessary.  

“We suck at bowling,” she muttered at him over the ball return after getting a meager two pins on the frame.

“Speak for yourself,” he countered, then turned and launched a ball down the lane. It flew so fast into the gutter that it bounced right out again, only to spin into the _other_ gutter where it stayed for good. She laughed so hard at that she thought for sure he was going to kill her.

His second attempt was much better, managing to knock down three pins. He claimed her laughter was distracting him, but he was laughing with her so she told him to stop complaining.

“Ooooh, look what they have,” she said, tugging at his sleeve and pointing to a group of children using a ramp to roll their balls. “We need one of those.”

“Uh, _no_ , we’re adults. Remember? We stay out all night and eat our vegetables first and earn our points the old-fashioned way.”

“Can we at least use the bumpers?”

“You only want to use all these gimmicky things cause I’m clobbering you at bowling.”

The score, in truth, was 21-17 after six frames, but she wasn’t going to argue. They were almost done anyway, and she _could_ still pull out the win, if only she could make the ball go straight-ish. Although she couldn’t really think of anywhere else she wanted to go.

“Are we friends?” she asked him as they passed each other at the ball return.

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t look up as he grabbed his ball. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking that maybe we were friends since you’ve been hanging out with me today and that’s what friends do. But you hang out with Joffrey, too, and you said he’s _not_ your friend, so… “

“Yeah, we’re friends,” he nodded. He didn’t say it like it was a good thing.

When his frame was over and it was her turn, they passed each other again.

“So why do you hang out with Joff if he’s not your friend?”

“Please. Who would take your drunk ass home if I wasn’t there?” He then walked right past her to have a seat before she could even hope to answer.

When she was done and it was his turn, she met him again at the ball return.

“Why are you hanging out with me now?”

“You don’t want me to?” He seemed genuinely surprised by the question, though not angry like she would have expected.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… you don’t like the things I pick. And you know you’re not going to get me into bed...”

“Definitely not,” he agreed, eyes going wide but not meeting hers, then wandered up to the lane for his turn. She was still waiting for him by the return when he came to retrieve his ball for his second shot, though she wasn’t technically supposed to do that.

“So why are you hanging out with me?”

“You think that’s the only reason someone would want to hang out with you?” he asked quietly, gathering his ball and taking his last shot.

“It’s the only reason _Joffrey_ hangs out with me," she continued when he came back to the deck. "Or the reason he _doesn’t_ hang out with me, as the case may be.”

This time he _did_ meet her eyes, and gave her an admonishing look. “You can’t use _Joffrey_ to measure other people.”

Well, that much was true, she knew, and as she approached the lane for her final frame she wondered about it despite having a more pressing concern on her hands.  Her effort was a lazy one, rolling lamely down the lane before barely missing a pin. She was just distracted, she told herself, and had to focus in order to win this. But while she waited at the return for her ball, she felt his presence behind her before he spoke.

“You think too much. Sometimes you have to turn your brain off and let your instincts take over.”

“You’re not really in a position to be giving bowling pointers,” she complained.

But he wasn’t wrong, and as much as she wanted to turn her brain off as he instructed, she found it was racing instead, racing towards her boyfriend and her continuously buzzing phone. Truth was, it had never occurred to her to _not_ be with Joffrey. Never once had she even considered breaking up with him, he had always been a part of her future. Not that she’d never imagined it could be different, but it still revolved around him- if only he was more considerate, more loving, more faithful. If only she wore the right thing, said the right thing, did the right thing. It would be better, later, she knew that. He might not have been the best boyfriend but he was still _her_ boyfriend, and as far as she was concerned he always would be.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa approached the bowling lane, swinging the ball gracefully, determined to end on a positive note. But the ball went high and landed with a thunk before rolling pathetically into the gutter and continuing its sad little journey to the very end.

“You held on too long,” Sandor rasped loudly behind her.

“No kidding,” she muttered to herself, though she wondered if they were still talking about the ball.


	8. 11am

 

“Where are we going?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“It’s a surprise.”

It wasn’t a surprise for very long, though, because it soon became very obvious where they were headed.

“The aquarium? Really?” she asked with only a slight mocking tone. “You’re as big a kid as I am.”

He said nothing, but she thought she could see a smile playing on his lips even though he tried to hide it. It cost _$10_ just to park, which Sansa thought was ridiculous, and even though she insisted on paying he shook his head and reminded her she was paying for admission.

Walking up to the aquarium, trying to match his stride though she suspected he was trying to match hers, she was surprised by how relaxed she felt. Probably only the fatigue, she knew, probably why he seemed just as relaxed. Nothing more than fatigue.

There were literally hordes of people loitering outside and Sansa was a little nervous about the crowd, but apparently all those people had purchased their tickets in advance and were only waiting for their time to enter. The wait in line had been minimally painful, but the cost of admission was shocking- $38 per person! Sansa tried to act like it didn’t bother her, but she could see the smirk on Sandor’s face and knew she wasn’t hiding it as well as she had hoped.

After paying for tickets they got in another long line just to get in the place, right behind a crowd of teenagers wearing matching t-shirts, proudly proclaiming they were the ‘Marching Patriots’ of ‘Lake Brantley High School’ from (apparently) somewhere in Florida.

“Band geeks,” Sandor muttered, his lip curling in an exaggerated sneer.

“Be nice,” she hissed. “They can hear you.”

“Good.”

After they’d entered the building, passing through the tunnel of fake water with fake fish and the crowd had dispersed into the enormous atrium, she punched him hard in the shoulder.

“I’m a band geek, too, you know.”

“You’re kidding.” He looked down at her quickly to gauge if she was joking, but she wasn’t. “What’d you play?”

“Drums. And I was terrible at it. I never should have picked it, but Matt Carson played drums and I really wanted his attention.”

Sandor snorted at her and shook his head. “So that was what, middle school? You didn’t do it in high school, though, right?”

“Ninth grade. I wanted to hold the cymbals for Danny Gresham. He was in tenth grade.” This time Sandor turned and scowled at her, clearly unimpressed and maybe a little disappointed that she based most of her decisions on whatever boy she liked, but she only laughed at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I was _fourteen_ , no one makes smart decisions when they’re fourteen.”

“ _I_ did,” he countered with a smirk.

She didn’t doubt it for a minute. “Yeah, well, we’re not all as strong as you are.”

“You could be. If you tried.” She didn't know if that was an insult or a compliment, so she ignored it, unsure of what to say.

The aquarium was very crowded but also incredible, truly breathtaking. There were so many different habitats- deep water, salt water, fresh water, swamp water- and they had so many different animals there, including crocodiles and otters, which she never would have guessed. There were even people out there in the water, feeding the fish and cleaning the glass and waving at the children who were waving at them. Sansa spent far too much time gasping and pointing at things, but Sandor just followed along beside her, saying close to nothing.

They entered an area that was clearly meant to represent the chilly Antarctic since even the air became colder. There was a display of salmon, which was interesting but a little dull, and the darkness was making her a little sleepy. But then they moved to a brightly-lit room, larger than most of the others, and were met with a wide watery vista and the familiar black and white of tiny African penguins.

“Oh… oh wow, Sandor, look! Aren’t they cute?”

He neither agreed nor disagreed, only grunted, but when she said she wanted to go through the tunnels to pop up in the glass gopher holes he was quick to voice his disapproval.

“You can’t go in there. You crawl around on all fours in that little dress, people will see your underwear.”

“No they won’t,” she scoffed. “I’m not wearing any.”

One of the penguins was waddling over near to where they were standing, and Sansa had moved closer to see it. She was about to say something to her companion when she realized he wasn’t with her anymore, and when she turned to look for him she found him standing frozen, exactly where she left him, a look of horror on his face.

“Oh my god, seriously?” she exclaimed. “I thought you could tell when people lied to you!”

Sandor relaxed only slightly and shook his head. “Don’t… don’t do that,” he rasped firmly, pointing a finger at her but still not meeting her eyes, and all she could do was laugh at him.

After the penguins, they found themselves back in the atrium, fighting a very long line for the ‘Dolphin Tales.’ Fortunately, even a crowd of pushy people anxious to get good seats was still intimidated by Sandor’s size, and they really had little trouble moving through the masses.

Their aimless wandering found them in a near-empty ballroom above the cafeteria, where people could go to eat after grabbing whatever snacks they could find. They hadn’t bought any food, but the ballroom had another perk: large windows peeking into water tanks that were crowded with people on the other side, but almost deserted on their side. Sansa particularly loved the beluga whales, and they stood watching for a long time as the mammals slid and bounced against the glass in an almost playful dance.

“Do you like science?” she asked him after they’d stood in silence too long.

Sandor looked down at her, puzzled but not answering, and she was suddenly nervous about the conversation, nervous enough to move away from the window and head back down stairs. She didn’t want him looking at her while she was talking; it was too hard to talk about in the first place.

“First semester, freshman year, I had to take a science elective. Anything I wanted. But my schedule was already packed and the only thing that would fit was food science. Turned out to be my favorite class.”

“OK, so… you like science?” he asked, still a little confused.

“Yeah, and… I have no reason to take more science classes, food or otherwise, since I’m an art history major. So sometimes I go to the classes I’m not registered for and just listen to the lectures, take notes like I’m really a student. So… I would pick that.”

“Food science?” he rasped, wrinkling his nose. “What the fuck is food science?”

“It’s really interesting, actually,” she started, pausing near a tank of tiny crabs. “And there’s so many different things you can do with it. Some scientists do product development, where they try to create the newest foods and come up with the most logical ways to do it. Or you could do quality control, where you just test products to make sure they are good or safe, or sometimes it’s about making sure the instructions on the package are accurate. You could be an inspector, go to restaurants or plants and make sure their practices conform to industry standards. Or some food scientists get into packaging, trying to create the best and most functional packaging for products, trying to balance societal demands with company needs. Or you could…”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Very cool.”

They started walking again, past a tank of seahorses where a child was tapping mercilessly on the glass, right by the sign that said ‘Please Do Not Tap on Glass’ while the parents stood behind her taking a picture of their little brat.

“You’ve known you would pick that for a while, haven’t you?” he said moments later.

“Yeah. A few years.”

“So why didn’t you say that when I asked?”

“I guess I wasn’t ready to share,” she shrugged as if it were no big deal. Except it _was_ a big deal, to her at least, and when she looked up nervously to gauge his reaction she thought maybe he felt the same. “What would you do? If you could pick?”

“Probably what I’m doing,” he admitted, walking leisurely towards another darkened section of the aquarium. “Never really thought about it.”

“Hmm, a boy without an opinion is a boy that’s easy to control,” she mock scolded, happy to flip the script on him even a little.

“I’m not a boy,” he smirked.

“Yeah, I know,” she said breathlessly, and oh god, that came out all sorts of wrong. Did it sound as bad to him as it did to her? “So seriously… you like your job?”  

“It’s all right. I’m good at it, pays decent. Benefits aren’t that great, though. They give me life insurance- like I fucking need life insurance- but I had to get my own health insurance, and the 401k match is shitty, so I started a few IRAs.”

What the… she thought they were having a discussion about hopes and dreams, and somehow he’d steered it right towards insurance and retirement planning.

“You remind me of someone, who is it, let me think,” she said, pursing her lips and tapping her chin to show that she was in deep thought. “Oh right. My dad. Next you’ll be talking about fiber and how you should take care of your knees.”

He came to a complete stop and glared at her, then looked her over completely before deadpanning “You _should_ take care of your knees.”

She could _not_ stop laughing at that, it was just too funny! Maybe not funny enough to make her stoop over and put her hands on her knees like she was currently doing, but who could blame her, she was too tired and he was too funny.

“You wait till your cartilage is gone, missy, you’ll be regretting those shoes.”

“Stop, you’re killing me,” she gasped.

“Alright, fuck, calm yourself before someone thinks you need medical attention.”

That was the wrong thing to say, and if he hadn’t realized that before then surely her shriek of laughter clued him in, and he quickly put an arm around her to hurry her away from gawking strangers.

“Ssssshhhhhhh, damn, you’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“It’s your fault,” she hissed, swatting him playfully in the chest before he dropped his arm and pulled away.

They were in a long, wide tunnel, passing under the largest tank in the aquarium as if they were walking on the ocean floor with schools of fish sailing over them. It was amazing, like something out of a movie, and Sansa was glad that there were only a few people so she could walk as slow as she liked.

“Did you know… I met Joffrey on a blind date?” He glanced down at her and shook his head, seemingly uninterested in what she was saying though she knew by now that this wasn’t the case. “Guess who set us up.”

He looked at her for what felt like ages, expression unreadable, till suddenly she saw a light go off behind his eyes and his unburned brow quirk up.

“Your parents?” he guessed. When she pressed her lips together and nodded he just shook his head at her. “Girl, you’re even more fucked up than I realized.”

The woman in front of them turned to glare at Sansa’s foul-mouthed companion, but as soon as she laid eyes on him she gasped and hurried her children away. It was so _rude_. And so _amusing_. Sansa would have laughed if she wasn’t already spent from her last laughing outburst.

She had paused at a window shaped like a porthole to look at some intricate sea dragons when she felt a warm hand on her waist.

“That’s nothing. Come on, the best part’s right around the corner.”

He didn’t move his hand away as he led her towards a dark hallway and into an even darker room. She was so stunned by what she saw there that she stopped in the doorway, gaping at the biggest window she’d ever seen, and behind it was an absurdly large tank filled with plants and sand and rocks and enormous fish.

“It’s like being in the ocean,” she exclaimed in breathless wonder, trying to take it all in, to see everything at once.

The room was set up like a theater, with carpet-covered steps where people could sit and stare for as long as they liked. Which is exactly what Sansa wanted to do, so they moved together to a far corner and found a comfortable spot.

“Look at the size of that fish,” she gasped, pointing as it swam slowly by.

“That’s a grouper,” he mumbled next to her.

“Oh, oh, look at that,” she pointed as an animal that looked more spaceship than fish floated by.

“That’s a manta ray.”

“What is _that?”_

“Whale shark,” he said immediately. “It’s a filter feeding shark, so it won’t eat those other fish. It’s the largest known fish species currently in existence.”

“How do you know all this?” she asked, turning to look at him, and he held up a laminated poster of all the animals in the tank that he’d been reading the entire time. “Oh.”

“The tank holds 6.3 million gallons of water,” he continued while she turned her attention back to the window in front of them. “It’s 284 feet by 126 feet, and 30 feet deep in some places. It’s the largest indoor aquatic habitat in the world…” He told her about the animals within and where they came from. He told her how long it took to fill the tank with water. He told her how the animals were cared for and how often. And it was interesting, really, but eventually his raspy voice started to fade away as she focused on the bigger picture.

It was just so beautiful, so peaceful and relaxing; she was almost drawn into it, imagining what it would be like to be out there, under the ocean and floating in the blue silence, surrounded by darting fish and gliding rays and endless possibilities. For a moment she could even feel it, the suspension of her weight in cold water as she just hung there, powerless but calm, waiting for anything to happen to her. But then she was drifting into darkness, enveloped in warmth and safety and something that smelled so so clean.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This aquarium is based almost entirely on the Georgia Aquarium in Atlanta. I've only ever been to one other aquarium (in New Orleans) which was fine, but the one in Atlanta was just amazing. 
> 
> The pictures are from Wikipedia. The first one was taken by Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Ruben Perez, an active-duty serviceman in the course of his duty, and is therefore considered property of the government and in the public domain.
> 
> The second picture was taken by Zac Wolf, who is happy to share as long as he gets credit. So I hope this is enough credit. If anyone knows better, please tell me!


	9. 4pm

“Sansa?” She was being moved, jostled awake, stood on her feet in an effort to rouse her. “Wake up little bird. Time to go.”

“What time is it?” she mumbled when she finally opened her eyes to the still-dark deep-water theater .

“4 o’clock.”

“Really? How long was I sleeping?” She was a little afraid of the answer, since she suspected her nap lasted close to two hours.

“A long fucking time. Your phone’s been blowing up.”

As they left the ocean behind and headed towards the exit, he handed over her phone and she quickly opened it to see what she’d missed: seven agitated texts, three phone calls, and two voice mails, all from Joffrey. Great. But even more interesting was the text exchange with her roommate.

> Jeyne: Where are you? You ok?   
> Sansa: Fine   
> Jeyne: Joffrey called earlier, I didn’t know what to tell him   
> Sansa: Tell him to get bent   
> Jeyne: ?????   
> Jeyne: What does that mean?!?!?!

“What does ‘get bent’ mean?” she asked with a smile, not even upset he’d pretended to be her.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Never mind, I don’t want to know,” she mumbled, still smiling.

She felt better now, after her long nap, and the sunlight didn’t hurt her eyes like it had earlier. It took a while to get all the way to his truck, walking almost the entire way in non-awkward silence, but after they’d settled back into the cab he looked at her with his brows raised as if asking her where to go.

“I’m starving,” she drawled, stretching like a spoiled feline.

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath. “Whatcha want?”

“There’s a tapas place that might be fun. You like tapas?”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Small plates.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before raising his arms and dropping them in noticeable frustration. “I’m gonna need you to expand on that a little,” he growled sarcastically.

“They’re like appetizers, only fancier, and usually that’s all they serve. So you don’t order a main dish you just order lots and lots of tapas. You can try lots of different things that way. And if you’re still hungry when you’re done you can just order more.”

“Alright, that doesn’t sound awful. Where is it?”

“Really?” she demanded, stunned he’d agreed, though she wasn’t sure why she thought he wouldn’t. “Oh god, I’ve been _dying_ to try this place. I think we should order one of everything, but if there’s something you think you’ll like we can order two. But _no alcohol,_ it’ll only make us sleepy.”

“Yes, it’s the _alcohol_ that’ll make us sleepy.”

“You’re funny,” she giggled, reaching over and lightly nudging him in his ginormous shoulder.

“That wasn’t funny,” he groused through a smile. “Where am I _going?”_

She had to pull up the restaurant website for directions, which curiously didn’t list a physical address. Maybe that should have been a deterrent, but it wasn’t. Heading north on the interstate, he followed the directions she read to him perfectly, exiting at an industrial zone, then out into seemingly nowhere before turning into a gas station parking lot, then a service alley, then another parking lot that they followed all the way around a large abandoned warehouse. They were just about to give up when a surprisingly full parking lot and a sign for Besado por el Fuego came into view.

_“Besado por el Fuego?”_

“Yeah, that’s it,” she answered, changing back into her heels. “Do you still have my wallet?”

“Yup,” he grumbled. He’d made it clear he didn’t appreciate being her personal knapsack all day but what did he expect, she didn’t have any pockets. “Want me to hold your phone?”

She almost said yes, almost handed it over. She wasn’t even sure why she carried it around so diligently when she refused to respond to any of Joffrey’s communication, but somehow it made her feel a little less guilty, like she hadn’t _really_ missed his calls and texts. But now, looking up at her newest and truest friend, the carefully non-judgmental look in his eyes though she knew he was probably judging her…

“No, I… think I’ll leave it here,” she said softly, and dropped the offending device into her purse and pushed it under the seat.

To call the restaurant décor eclectic would be an understatement. It wasn’t like a yard sale or anything, it was just that nothing seemed to go together and was placed haphazardly all over the place. Sansa loved it immediately. When the hostess led them to a small table that had chairs on one side and a squishy booth on the other they fought over who had to sit in a chair. In the end neither one of them did, electing instead to sit side-by-side in the darkened half of the booth after Sandor pulled the table out to make room.

“Oh, they have dancing,” she gasped, pointing at an adjoining room filled with swaying couples as he settled in beside her. “Will you dance with me?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that dances?”

“Please? Please please please _pleasepleaseplease?”_

“I’m not dancing.” She screwed her face up and scowled at him to show her displeasure but he was absolutely not going to let her get away with it. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pout cause you didn’t get your way.”

Dang it, he was right, she _was_ pouting, and it _was_ because she didn’t get her way. But he should be willing to give her what she wanted, it was just a little dance.

“Isn’t it enough to know that it would make me happy?”

“Isn’t it enough to know that it would make me miserable?” he countered. “You don’t care about _my_ happiness, but I’m supposed to care about _yours_?”

Well, when he put it that way… ugh, he was right. And it wasn’t like he never let her have her way, he’d just spent the better part of the day giving her whatever she wanted. Just because he wouldn’t dance with her didn’t make him inconsiderate, she knew that, but the most dignified response she could come up with was simply sticking out her tongue in protest.

“Hi, welcome to Besado. I’m Ros, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” they ordered in unison, then both began laughing.

“Cream and sugar?” the waitress asked blandly.

“No, he likes his coffee bitter,” Sansa answered.

“And she likes hers covered in whipped cream,” he rasped, and they both laughed again. It was a true testament to just how sleepy they were that they could even find that funny, and when Sansa glanced up at the waitress the woman just shook her head and rolled her eyes before stalking off towards the kitchen with a sigh.

“I don’t think Ros appreciates our sense of humor.”

“Fuck her if she can’t take a joke,” he grumbled, then nodded at the menu. “Watcha want?

“Uh… I was looking at the lobster cigars but it only comes with two. $11 for two lobster cigars is a little ridiculous.”

“You’re the cheapest rich girl I’ve ever known,” he complained, shaking his head.

Sansa dropped her menu and glared at him. “Are you calling me cheap?”

“If the six-dollar-shoe fits…”

“What, _that’s_ your supporting evidence?”

“You didn’t even buy socks.”

“I didn’t want to spend the money.”

“And you picked the dollar movie when the IMAX had other options.”

“Why pay $18 per person when you can see a movie for a dollar?”

“You’re seriously not seeing a pattern here?”

Alright, fine, there was a pattern, but there was no way she was going to admit it. “Just because I don’t have to worry about money doesn’t mean I make frivolous financial decisions,” she sniffed haughtily.

Ros arrived with their coffee- no cream or sugar- and took their order. They ordered almost everything they could think of, which was fine with Sansa since she was starving. She hadn’t really eaten in twelve hours, after all, so what if she wanted to make up for it now?

“Your parents give you money?” Sandor asked her, sipping carefully at his coffee even though it was clearly too hot to drink. She nodded once in response. “Do you have a budget?”

“Not really,” she mumbled, as if it were inconsequential.

“And yet you spend as little as possible.”

“I’m frugal,” she insisted, but when he raised one skeptical brow at her she groaned and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. It’s, like, the _only_ thing I can really control, so… I guess I control the heck out of it.”

God, how did he manage to get into her mind like that, as if he understood her better than she understood herself. Wow, that was hyperdramatic- probably because she was tired- and yet so very true. He _got_ her, somehow. She wasn’t entirely sure what she thought about that.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes lingering over his features maybe more than they really should have, but he turned to meet her gaze as if he were waiting for her to say something. But she didn’t _have_ anything to say right then and looked away quickly, suddenly fascinated by the salt shaker. Though really, she wouldn’t mind looking at him again. If she had been a little more rested then maybe she would have been a little more subtle. Instead she rolled her head as if trying to stretch her neck, then shamelessly side-eyed him while unfurling her napkin.

He wasn’t what you would call classically handsome; not even a little, really, and the scars just made it so much worse. But she could understand why Lisa thought he was hot, because... there was something _there_ , something attractive in a way she couldn’t quite explain. If Lisa felt it, too, then… but how _could_ she feel it when she didn’t even know him. No one knew him like Sansa did, she was certain. And no one knew Sansa like Sandor did. _How did that happen?_

When he turned and looked into her eyes again she thought for a moment he might have been thinking the same thing, or at the very least would tease her for staring. But apparently his mind was elsewhere.

“Do you know what ‘Besado por el Fuego’ means, little bird?” he rasped so softly she really had no choice but to lean in to hear him.

“No.”

“’Kissed by Fire.’”

“Hmm,” she purred lazily, trying to ignore the fluttering she felt when he said ‘kissed.’ “Some people say _I’ve_ been kissed by fire, and that’s why I have red hair.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been _literally_ kissed by fire, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

It took her only a fraction of a second to understand what he meant, and when she did she didn’t blush or apologize or anything, only erupted into laughter that couldn’t be quelled, and he laughed with her because damn it, it was funny! They laughed so loud and so long that people were starting to stare, but they cared very little and it did nothing to quiet them.

“I’ll buy dinner,” she offered when she calmed down enough to speak, because she felt like she needed to say something and didn’t know what else to say.

“ _I’ll_ buy dinner,” he insisted. “ _You_ can get the game.”

“The game?”

“Yeah. The baseball game we’re going to after this.”

There must have been something about laughing with him, she thought, because when he looked at her with his eyes burning bright and that slight smirk on his face some strange heat slammed into her body and she would swear her pitiful little heart came to a shuddering stop. The laughter, yes… or maybe it was because Joffrey never looked at her like that.

Oh god, Joffrey, why did she keep thinking about him? _Because he’s your boyfriend, stupid!_ Her boyfriend, who she loved, and wanted to marry. Who she’d been with for two years. Who her parents had picked out and approved. But who never made her feel anything like she was currently feeling, or really anything good at all. This man she was with now- the one who took her wherever she wanted to go, the one who listened to her, the one who _got_ her- this was not her boyfriend. She should not be spending so much time with him, sitting so close to him, looking at him the way she was looking at him... It was _confusing_. She felt like she was standing on the precipice of _something_ , about to step forward, but… she didn’t know if that step would be good or bad for her, so instead she just teetered on the edge, too terrified to move.  

Though she certainly moved when Ros arrived with the start of their tapas; it all looked _amazing_. First was the warm marinated olives and marcona almonds. Then the roasted Brussel sprouts with pancetta and balsamic glaze, homemade mozzarella with tomato and basil, fontina baked eggplant, and fried goat cheese with vanilla honey drizzle. Before they could finish arguing about the pronunciation of ‘marcona,’ more plates arrived bearing mini Mahi tacos, sashimi tuna and fried capers, and spicy beef empanadas. He was quick to claim the third empanada but she didn’t argue, because when the panko-fried scallops arrived she got the extra one of those. The steamed PEI mussels al diablo had an even number so they didn’t have to stab each other with their tiny forks, and the vegetable paella was such a generous portion they both easily got their fill.

He was too big a sissie to even _try_ the bacon-wrapped dates, even though they were delicious, so she got all of them. And he let her have both lobster cigars because he said he wasn’t in the mood for lobster, though she suspected that wasn’t quite truthful.

They chugged down coffee as fast as they could, then laughed at each other about it. Poor Ros seemed far out of her comfort-zone with their boisterous requests for refills; she looked relieved when she finally presented them with the check. Sandor wouldn’t tell her how much it all cost and she pretended to be mad at him because of it, but when he offered her his hand to help her out of the booth she gratefully accepted.

She was still sleepy but not _too_ sleepy, thanks to all that delicious food, the long nap, and the undeniable hum she’d been feeling ever since he slid into the booth next to her. And when they left she had the same urge she’d had at Starbucks, that same desire to throw her arm around his waist. Would he mind? Maybe not, but it didn’t really matter- Joffrey would _definitely_ mind, and his opinion mattered more than Sandor’s did.

Right?


	10. 6pm

“Ok, so… explain it again?”

“We’re going to my place and taking a taxi to the game so we don’t have to worry about parking. And because I’m fucking tired and don’t want to drive anymore.”

“Why didn’t you just say it that way in the first place?”

“I _did.”_

Sansa blinked sleepily at Sandor’s profile and shook her head with a sigh of defeat. “Yeah… there’s a small chance I’m not thinking clearly.”

 _Really_ not thinking clearly, as the phone buzzing under her seat proved. What on earth was she doing? Her boyfriend had been trying to get ahold of her all day and she’d been completely ignoring him, blowing him off in favor of… well, in favor of some other guy. There was no other way to explain it than in those simple terms, and when she thought of it that way it just made her feel terrible. She had to talk to Joffrey- she _had_ to, she knew that, but when she dug her phone out and turned it on the very first message said…  

> Joffrey: You’d better be dead somewhere bitch

…and she changed her mind.

 _The next time he calls, I’ll answer_ , she told herself firmly.

As many times as Sandor had been to her apartment, she didn’t have a single clue as to where he lived. Somehow that seemed unfair. They didn’t go inside when they arrived, just stood in the parking lot, waiting for the taxi that Sandor had called while Sansa practiced what she would say to Joffrey.  

 _I’m with a friend, a friend that Joffrey doesn’t know._ And… that wasn’t a lie, really, cause Joffrey _didn’t_ know Sandor, not like Sansa did. Oh god, that was so lame, but… she couldn’t tell him who she was really with. She couldn’t tell him _any_ of it. Standing in silence, fingering her phone absently, she tried to think of every question Joffrey would ask her and a reasonably truthful but non-incriminating answer she could provide. ‘ _I’ve been shopping with a friend, and we were never in a place where I could respond to you.’_ It was ridiculous, this hole she’d put herself in, and trying to claw her way out was not something she was used to.

“You want me to hold that?” Sandor asked nonchalantly, pointing at the phone she gripped nervously in her hand.

“Uh, no… that’s ok, I got it,” she muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

Great, so now not only did she feel guilty for ignoring Joffrey all day, she also felt guilty for planning on talking to him. Which was so unfair. Why would he try to make her feel bad for wanting to talk to her own boyfriend?

_He’s not making you feel bad, stupid, you’re doing that to yourself._

Argh, she _hated_ that voice in her head, that stupid nagging whiney guilt-inducing voice in her head. What was going _on_ with her? 24 hours ago she and Joffrey were solid. Now they were… what, exactly? Nothing had changed, not really, not with Joffrey; she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t even spoken to him, so why did she suddenly feel so different about him?

“Are you alright?”

 _“What?”_ She cast wide eyes up at him, startled by the question and unsure about the answer.

“I can take you home, you know. It’s not a big deal.”

His expression was one of determined indifference, though she knew by now his face didn’t always reflect what he was truly thinking. She’d distanced herself from him, and he noticed, so he offered to take her home. And he meant it, too, she could tell, and that made her feel worst of all.

“No, that’s… ok,” she stammered, looking down to hide the way her breath was coming in short. “I’m not ready to go home yet. If that’s ok with you.”

She glanced shyly up at him, swallowing hard, and was surprised to see his expression had softened. It _was_ ok with him, she knew- he was so nice to her, even when he was grouchy, and as her heart beat in her ears loud enough to drown out the sounds of the approaching taxi, all thoughts of Joffrey disappeared.

When they were settled side by side in the backseat of the cab, she couldn’t help but notice how close they were sitting, maybe even a little closer than they were in the restaurant. Not _intentionally_ , of course, it just happened that way on accident. Between driving to his apartment, calling for a taxi, and driving back into town… it seemed to take _forever_ , and they were stuck in traffic well outside the stadium when the game began.

“Hey, you wanna see a picture?” he asked her with a tight smile, a slight challenge in his tone.

Oh, oh no, she wasn’t sure if she _did_ want to see a picture, not since the last time that sentence had been uttered she was teasing him about falling asleep. But ultimately her curiosity won out and she nodded her head warily. “Ok.”

When he held his phone up to her, smug little smirk on his face, she laughed in relief. It was her, of course, sleeping at the aquarium, her lips parted only slightly and a stray tendril of hair in her mouth. She looked a little silly, but not awful. Better, though, she could see the buttons of his shirt in the picture and knew now what she had always suspected to be true- she'd slept in his arms, her head on his chest. _For two hours._

“You gonna put that on Instagram?”

“Nope,” he rasped firmly, leaning towards her so he could slide his phone back into his pocket.

“You know your phone is in airplane mode?” she asked, more accusation than she intended.

He looked momentarily surprised by her question- and a little embarrassed, too. “Yeah, I know,” he responded without looking at her.

“How long have you had it that way?”

“I don’t know. Since… the skating rink?”

He still wouldn’t look at her, even though she was looking at him, and the same guilty feeling as before swept into her as she realized he’d isolated himself from _everyone_ just for her. And here she was still carting around her phone, unwilling to part with it or even turn it off.

Oh, but she _couldn’t_ , not when her boyfriend kept texting her- much as he was at that very moment, the buzzing of her phone confirmed. Sandor heard it, she knew, and turned to see if she would read it. But she didn’t, though she couldn’t say why, and when he looked down at her again, it wasn’t in irritation or even indifference, he looked… a little sad. Just a little, really, easy enough to overlook if she didn’t already know him so well. And instead of the happy fluttery feeling his gazes had been instilling in her lately, the only thing she felt was a painful squeeze around her heart. _No… no no no, Sansa, stop it. Stop making this so hard, stop sucking all the fun out of everything._

They finally got close enough to the stadium that they could walk the rest of the way, even though she was still wearing her heels, and Sandor helped her out of the cab before paying the driver. When they got to the ticket window she really wanted to prove that she wasn’t hung up about spending money, but after she was presented with the seating chart and the price tier she chickened out and asked for the cheapest thing available. Which, ironically, was not the lowest tier, since those had already sold out, but it WAS the very back row of the second-to-last tier. Spending extra money on seats that were just as bad as the cheaper seats left a bad taste in her mouth but she bit her tongue before she could say anything, especially since Sandor was looking at her like he was just _waiting_ for her to complain.

“I have to use the ladies room,” she told him before they could get to their seats, and he handed back her ticket stub so she’d know where she was going.

It was more than a little awkward using the bathroom holding her phone, since she had no purse and no pockets and not even a bra she could tuck it into. It was even more awkward washing her hands afterward, holding the device under her chin while she scrubbed up, but the worst was when her phone started ringing- another call from Joffrey- and instead of answering it like she swore she would she just let it ring, it’s insistent buzzing echoing loudly in the crowded restroom.

 _Next time_ , she told herself, swallowing away the guilty feeling. _I’ll be ready next time._

Approaching the section listed on her ticket stub, she immediately spotted her companion, sitting alone in the back row, towering over every single other person she could see. He looked… well, he looked a little uncomfortable, and she wondered if maybe the seats were too small for him. Served him right for being so gigantic.

Flipping her phone into camera mode, she quickly threw an arm on either side of his head and pressed her face into the ruined side of his, holding the camera awkwardly in front of them to take a selfie of the two of them together.

“Smile!”

He did _not_ smile, unbelievably, just scowled at her image reflected on the camera.

“Sandor, smile. Smile! You can’t even smile? Seriously?” She finally sighed in defeat and gave _herself_ a glorious smile, snapping a picture despite his grouchy demeanor. “You’re no fun,” she pouted into his ear before slowly removing her arms.

Their seats were in the middle of the row so she had to shuffle all the way down in front of already-seated strangers, apologizing the whole way and feeling extra ridiculous for her outfit.

The game was… well, it was a baseball game, so there was lots of standing around. And their seats were terrible, so it was hard to really get into it. In fact, she would go so far as to say it was kind of boring, and felt herself drifting off despite the lights and the music and the crowd. He must have felt the same way, because out of nowhere he yawned loudly, stretching his arms up over his head and cracking his back. For a moment she thought he was going to do that cheesy I’m-so-sleepy-I have-to-yawn-really-big-and-is-it-ok-if-I-set-my-arm-on-the-back-of-your-seat trick. For a moment, she thought maybe she’d be ok if he _did_. But he didn’t, just dropped his arms back in front of him when he was done stretching.

“Your mouth is enormous,” she exclaimed. He gave her a dirty look but she just waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s not a _bad_ thing. I mean… it’s proportional to the _rest_ of you. It’s just that all the rest of you is enormous, too.”

Out of the corner of her eye she got the vaguest impression of strangers turning to look at her while Sandor slowly shook his head.

“Girl… do you _ever_ think before you speak?”

She laughed softly at him, unwilling to admit that she had actually thought that one through completely, had said it that way on purpose. “I’m just really tired,” she explained.

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“Yours. You picked the game.”

He leaned into her with a smirk and gave her a heated look. “If I had picked a Motel 6 would we be there instead?”

The same strangers as before turned and stared at her again, and this time she was blushing furiously despite the fatigue.

“Boy… do you ever think before you speak?” she murmured up at him, pressing her lips together to moisten them, only because they were dry and no other reason. His eyes very briefly dropped to her mouth before he looked away with a weary shake of his head.

After a few more outs on the inning, he leaned into her slightly and said he needed to ‘take a piss.’ Charming. But instead of shuffling down the aisle like a normal person, he simply turned and stepped over the seat he’d been sitting in. He really _was_ enormous.

Her phone rang again in her hand- geez, Joffrey was a lot more determined than she’d given him credit for- but again she didn’t answer, just stared down at her lap, reminding herself that she really _did_ need to talk to him. Next time. He didn’t leave a voice mail, thank heavens, though she didn’t know why she cared if he did when she wouldn’t have listened to it anyway. She was so screwed, she knew that. Maybe she should go ahead and read all his texts…

Turning on her phone, it went immediately to the camera, and instead of going to her text messages like she originally planned she found herself switching over to her pictures, the last of which was- of course- the one she had just taken of her and Sandor, faces pressed together.

She looked tired; _he_ looked tired. And he looked… well, he wasn’t scowling anymore. His head was turned slightly into hers, eyes looking sideways at her, wide and open and… happy. He looked happy. She smiled and ran her finger across his image, accidentally flipping it to the picture of him sleeping in the theater and had to fight a laugh. _And I said he was no fun,_ she mused, flipping back to the picture of them together. She couldn’t remember the last time she _had_ so much fun, even if she was exhausted. So why did her heart hurt so bad? 

“You ready to go?” he rasped over her head, making her jump in surprise. There was no way he didn’t see her looking at his picture. Oh well, too tired to care.

“It’s only the sixth inning,” she protested.

“So we’ll beat the crowd. Come on.”

She didn’t argue, just followed him out of the ballpark and towards the line of taxis out front. When he climbed in after her and shut the door she realized they were sitting closer than last time, though she couldn’t figure out whose fault that was or if it even mattered.

“Anything else you wanna do, little bird?” he asked through a yawn.

“We should go get matching tattoos,” she answered immediately, mostly just to see what he would say.

“Of what?” he grumbled, obviously amused.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. “Gorillas? Roller skates? Cups of coffee?”

“It’s been a really long fucking day, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she sighed in agreement. “That’s what we should get. Today’s date.”

He didn’t respond right away, and she wondered if he was actually considering it or if he was just trying to think of a nice way to say no. “It started yesterday, though,” he said at last. “Shouldn’t it be yesterday’s date?”

“No, yesterday doesn’t count,” she murmured, languid and listless. “Yesterday wasn’t real.”

She was drifting again, rocked into a daze by the swaying of the taxi, but even in her stupor she wondered why she was so beat while he was still awake and not even showing signs of fatigue. And he was so much older than her, too!

“You can sleep if you want to.”

“I’m not sleepy,” she said, turning her face towards him but keeping her eyes closed.

“Of course you’re not,” he rasped, sounding closer than before. “You did have that long nap at the aquarium.”

“I slept at the theater, too,” she whispered on impulse, unsure of where this sudden need to confess came from. She’d let him believe he was the only one to sleep at the movies, that she had been awake the whole time. But the truth was she’d taken his picture then rested her head on his shoulder before drifting off, her hand wrapped securely around his upper arm, certain he would never know.

“I know,” he rumbled down at her. All she could do was smile.


	11. 10pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this chapter, hope you all like it!

Getting out of the taxi had been near-impossible, her arms and legs protesting every single move she tried to make, so she didn’t complain when he pulled her by the elbow to help her out. Nor did she complain about the way he held her, tucked into his side, as he led her out of the parking lot.

When they finally made it into his apartment he suggested they play cards. It seemed like a great idea- an activity that was well-lit and kept them on opposite sides of the table from each other, unlike the taxi ride or the baseball game or dinner or the aquarium or... wait, where was she going with this? Didn’t matter. She plunked herself down at his coffee table and shuffled the cards he gave her.

They were playing 21 because… uh, there was a reason, what was it? Oh right- cause it was easy, and it was way too late in the evening for thinking. He won almost every hand, because she always said ‘hit me’ even when a more-rested Sansa would have held, even long after she’d hit 21 and beyond.

“How long you gonna keep avoiding your nest, little bird?”

“Hit me. I don’t know.” And that was the truth- she didn’t really understand why she was so hell-bent on avoiding her apartment; it wasn’t even a bad apartment. But when she glanced up at him he was giving her a look of exasperation. “Well, I _don’t._ Hit me.”

Crap. 25.

“You know what I think?” he rasped at her as he took her cards and added them to the deck. “I don’t think the apartment is your problem. I think it’s everything _about_ the apartment- all the choices you weren’t allowed to make, all the decisions someone else made for you. And I _think_ … that you won’t want to go home until you make some of your own decisions. Make a few changes for the better.”

Well, she wasn’t entirely certain if she agreed with everything he was saying, but it sounded… plausible, she supposed. She really didn’t get to make any choices in that life, the one she lived in that apartment. Outside of that life… well, the choices had all been hers. But even as she thought maybe he was a little correct, she also suspected that it had something to do with the day itself, and the way she didn’t want it to end. Not that she could ever tell _him_ that.  

“You’re a really good therapist.”

“ _Massage_ therapist,” he corrected her.

“NO,” she admonished, and he smirked without looking at her and tapped the cards on the table.

“So what are you going to do? You think you’ll move?”

“I guess there’s nothing wrong with my apartment,” she finally conceded. “Or hey, I could move in here. How many bedrooms you got in this place?”

“Two,” he rasped, shuffling the cards again. “But I don’t think you’d like living with me.”

“Why’s that?” She had no intention of moving in with him, but was curious to hear his answer.

“Well… there’s this thing I like to do. _Really_ like to do. Every day. Every chance I can, actually. But _you_ … have no interest in this thing, and also seem to have a problem with _me_ doing it.”

Wait… a _thing_ he liked? Was he saying what she thought he was saying? He knew _she_ didn’t do that kind of thing, and she also remembered how upset he’d been that she told Lisa he wasn’t single. And he was a guy- a large, masculine guy, probably more virile than most other guys- so it would make sense, what he was saying, if…

“Sleep,” he said flatly. “It’s sleep. What did you _think_ I was talking about?” He gave her a mischievous grin and… oh god, when he smiled like that his scars stretched hideously, but there must have been some sort of misfire in her brainwaves because all she could think was how adorable he was being.

“Jerk,” she chastised him after a moment, and they both huffed softly, too weary for real laughter even though it was funny.

“What are you gonna do about school?”

“I guess I’m switching majors,” she confessed, surprised to have said it out loud. That hadn’t been the plan only sixty seconds ago, but now… well now, why not? She could switch majors if she wanted to; if her parents didn’t support her decision then she would just deal with the consequences.

“And… the other?” he asked cautiously, looking pointedly at her phone sitting on the table by her side. She knew what he was asking; she just wished he hadn’t asked. He would never understand her relationship with Joffrey, because he wasn’t a _part_ of her relationship with Joffrey. It didn’t even affect him, so his opinion didn’t count for anything. But if it really didn’t count for anything, why did she feel so compelled to make him understand?

“He wasn’t always so… _neglectful_ , you know,” she started. “He was pretty good in the beginning, always sending me flowers or calling to say ‘hey’ or taking me out on dates. Now… well, now I can’t remember the last time I even _went_ on a date.”

He held both arms out and gave her a look of mock outrage. “What are you talking about? We just went on, like, a hundred dates.”

“No we didn’t,” she protested, squinting at him with a confused smile, but even as she said it she realized he was right.

Her heart just about stopped when he set the deck of cards down on the table and took her left hand into both of his, the contact between them sending sparks shooting up her arm and behind her eyes. And even though he kept his eyes on her hand and his expression neutral, she could still tell this was… something… to him, something he’d wanted to do for a while, even under the guise of this game he was playing.

“Well let’s see… first I took you dancing,” he rasped, sliding his thumb up her pointer finger till it was straight. “Then… I took you to dinner,” raising her middle finger in the same way, before moving to her ring finger. “Then… to the movies.”

“ _I_ took _you_ to the movies,” she corrected him, trying desperately to keep her tone light while ignoring the thrumming in her blood.

“Still counts. Then… coffee…” he murmured, lifting her pinky.

“Coffee? Really, you’re counting that?” she objected, giving him a shy smirk.

“People go out for coffee,” he said almost playfully, matching her smirk with his own.

“Maybe on a _first_ date. By the fourth it’s kind of a non-event. Doesn’t count.”

“Well, I’m lumping it together with all the times I had to drive your drunk ass home and calling it four.” He lightly squeezed her pinky as if to emphasize his point, then moved on to her thumb, lifting it up to join her other fingers. “Then… the zoo…”

He slid his palm softly over hers before carefully lowering her hand to the table, then moved on to repeat the process with her other hand, lifting a finger with every activity named. Oh god, why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?  She could see her pulse flickering madly in her wrist, a perfect indication of how her whole body was feeling, and she wondered if he noticed and was only pretending not to.

“Roller skating... Bowling…

“You suck at bowling.”

“… Aquarium... Tapas… Baseball game...

He didn’t let go, not yet, just held her hand in his, caressed the palm with his thumb while her heart pounded furiously against her ribs. What would it feel like, she wondered, if he kissed her fingers… kissed her wrist, her elbow, her shoulders… to have those burned lips on her neck, or his hands reaching up under her dress, to feel the full weight of his enormous body pressing her into his mattress. It was surprising and… a little intimidating, this weird energy that was snapping and popping and surging through her veins. Could he feel that, too? Did she _want_ him to?

It wasn’t until he placed her hand gently on the table and withdrew his own that she managed to form a coherent response.

“That’s only ten,” she sighed, surprised by the breathless huskiness of her own voice.

“Felt like a hundred.”

“Are you tired?”

“Really fucking tired,” he agreed, with the slowest nod she’d ever seen.

Geez, what was wrong with her? If she had any sympathy at all, any concern for anyone but herself, she would let the man sleep. It was horrible, the way she dragged him around, making him entertain her- she felt terrible, really, and the guilt alone should be enough to let him go. But it wasn’t. Instead she was looking up at him, right into his red-rimmed eyes, knowing he needed to sleep, knowing he _wanted_ to sleep, and still refusing to let go of the day. And it meant something, she thought, but couldn’t figure out _what._

Her phone lit up, and this time her hand immediately reached for it, hitting ‘decline’ as soon as she saw who it was from. And that meant something, too, but… oh god, why did she have to be so tired right now? It was impossible to think! She was supposed to do something, she knew that, even through the fog of fatigue. But as the phone under her hand started ringing again everything suddenly became perfectly, horribly, painfully clear:

Joffrey was a _terrible_ boyfriend.  And it wasn’t love that kept her by his side, or desire or compassion or hope. It was fear. The only reason she stayed was because she was too scared to break it off, too scared of what it would mean for her, of what may or may not happen next.  Even today, instead of facing her issues head on she’d simply run away from them, refusing to answer her phone like a weak and confused little girl. But she _wasn't_ weak, and she _wasn't_ confused…

…and she wasn't scared anymore.

She didn’t look at the Hound at all when she grabbed her phone and wallet and headed out his door. Her phone had already stopped buzzing by then, so she opened her contacts to call him back, her heart beating at a surprisingly slow and steady pace as she headed instinctively to the corner market she’d seen when they arrived.

Joffrey answered halfway through the first ring.

“Sansa?” he shouted by way of greeting. “It’s about fucking time, where are you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What?! What do you mean, don’t _worry_ about it? I’ve been calling you all fucking day! I went by your apartment and your roommate said she didn’t think you even came home last night. So where the fuck were you? If you cheated on me, I will slit your cunt throat, I swear it.”

“I didn’t cheat on you!” she hissed at him.

“So where have you _been,_ huh? No one saw you leave the club last night, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of the Hound, either. Tell me!”  

“Joffrey,” she snapped, louder than she intended, and had to take a moment to breathe deeply and calm herself before continuing. _Just say it and be done, say it and be done. Say it. And be done._ “It’s over. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, it’s over? You don’t get to say that. It’s over when _I_ say it’s over.”

“So say it,” she yelled at him. “What are you waiting for? You’re obviously not happy with me, we never even spend time together. So say it; say it’s over.”

“Sansa,” he started gently, and she was surprised at the sudden vulnerability in his voice. She could hear him breathing before he finally spoke. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but whatever it is we can fix it.”

For a moment, just a moment, she was uncertain. He had never said anything like that before, not once. It was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever given her. Except it _wasn’t_ an apology, and even if it was it didn’t change how she felt. “No. I’m sorry, but it’s over, you can’t change my mind. I’ve already moved on.”

“What does _that_ mean? Did you fuck someone, you slut?”

Oh, she couldn’t believe she even _considered_ taking him back just a second earlier. “I can’t be a slut if I’m a virgin, you idiot. You’re the one sleeping around, if anyone is a slut, it’s you!”

“Wha… who told you that?”

“No one had to tell me, I’ve always known. I’ve had enough, Joffrey. I want out. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t anything. I’m done. Have a nice life!”

She hit ‘end’ on the call, and ‘end’ on the relationship. Walking into the small corner market, she felt like a new person, a lighter and infinitely-improved person. How much time had she wasted on him? Way, _way_ too much, but now she was free, finally free, and it was so much easier and far less dramatic than she thought it would be. Oh, things would probably be awkward for a while, sure, but she didn’t care, because she never ever had to think about him ever again.

As if to mock her, her phone buzzed in her hand, and she sighed in irritation when she saw the text.

> Joffrey: Who is he?  
>  Sansa:  There isn’t anyone  
>  Joffrey: You’re lying  
>  Sansa:  Stop texting me  
>  Joffrey: Do I know him?  
>  Joffrey: I’m just curious  
>  Joffrey: Tell me who he is and I promise you’ll never hear from me again

It was _such_ a bad idea. Really, one of the worst she’d ever had. But… she never wanted to hear from him again… and he promised… and it _would_ be kinda fun to drop such a big bomb on her a-hole ex-boyfriend. And it wasn’t _exactly_ a lie. So on impulse, and probably because of her extreme fatigue, she pulled up the picture of her and Sandor at the baseball game and forwarded it to Joffrey. The cherry on top of the shitty sundae that was her ex-relationship.

“Oh my god,” she gasped out loud, clutching her chest as if her heart was fit to explode and ignoring the glances of other late-night shoppers. “I feel _good.”_

Strolling around the market, picking up a few things- she felt happier than she had in a very long time. She could hardly pay attention to what she was doing; the cashier could have told her she owed eight billion dollars and she wouldn’t have noticed, her head was floating elsewhere, way up in the clouds. God, what a day! What a happy, productive, exhausting and beautiful day!

She practically skipped her way back to Sandor’s apartment- well, it would have been a skip, if she had any energy whatsoever, but it was still quite jaunty. Because she was ready, _so_ ready- for the next step, for sleep, for the day to be over so another could begin. She could not _wait_ to get started on the rest of her life. And she knew exactly where she wanted to begin.

It all fell apart when she opened his front door and stepped inside. He was sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, phone in hand. He looked… well, he still looked tired, but he also looked angry. _So_ angry.

“What did you do?” he growled low, eyes blazing into hers.

His phone lit up, notifying him of a new message; she didn’t need him to tell her it was from Joffrey.


	12. 11pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...
> 
> A little of everything in this chapter. Hope you like it, hope it's realistic.
> 
> MANY MANY THANKS FOR READING! You guys are the best!

“Why are you mad?”

“What did you _do,_ Sansa?”

Why was he asking that? If he was getting messages from Joffrey then he already _knew_ what she’d done. And she had thought, perhaps naively, that he would be happy to hear she’d finally broken things off. Never did she imagine he would be so _angry_.

“I thought your phone was off.”

It sounded like an accusation, even though she didn’t mean it that way. She saw his eyes widen subtly, his expression ticking upwards from ‘angry’ to ‘livid,’ and as he slowly rose from the couch she unwittingly took a step backwards.

“What is this?” he rasped faintly, voice shaking and barely audible. “You… here… why are you here?”

“You brought me here,” she said stupidly, wincing at her answer because she knew full well that wasn’t what he meant.

“That’s not what I meant!”

She _knew_ that, of course, she just never thought she’d have to explain it. In fact, staring timidly up at him, the cold fury in his eyes, the memories of the day flitting around in her brain… she couldn’t understand what was going on with him, why he’d be mad at her for finally doing something positive in her life. Fifteen minutes ago his gaze had burned through her in a completely different way, but now that she was free to do something about it he was… what, uninterested?

“I’m not in the mood for your attitude, Sandor,” she snapped irritably.

“Oh, that’s… cute,” he sneered, face twisting up.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Your boyfriend called.” He held up his phone briefly then threw it on the couch before stalking down the hallway towards what she assumed was his bedroom.

 _What on earth is his problem?_   Scrambling over to the couch she snatched up his discarded phone and opened it to find out exactly what Joffrey had been saying. It started out simply enough, with messages sent earlier in the day. 

> Hey man, you take Sansa home last night?
> 
> You have any idea where my girl is?

It went completely off the rails after that, starting not even ten minutes ago.  

> What’d you say to her to get her to fuck you?
> 
> She’s only using you to make me mad, she told me so
> 
> She thinks you’re really fucking ugly
> 
> And she said you taste like ass
> 
> She begged me to forgive her and take her back but I said no
> 
> You two cocksuckers deserve each other
> 
> She might blush and say shes a virgin but its an act, she loves dick
> 
> But you already knew that
> 
> Do you have any idea how many dicks she’s taken? You know she’s been through a lot of them if she finally made her way around to yours
> 
> And I know it was you who told her about Margie
> 
> So jealous you can’t get any yourself, had to start making shit up?
> 
> Don’t get too used to her, cause she’ll be skipping out soon, girls like that need more than one dick

“Wow, Joff, you’ve really outdone yourself,” she muttered bitterly, just as another text came in.  

> Her cunt’s an open door. Hope you wrapped it

_God, what an absolutely horrible human being._

“You could have stuck up for me!” she shouted, then headed towards his room to find him. “You could have called him a liar. Told him the truth.”

He met her in the hallway, standing in the entrance to a bedroom, glaring at her with more fury than even before, but she met his fury with her own, because... it _hurt_ , to know that he couldn’t be bothered to defend her against these accusations, hurt that he was apparently upset to have earned Joffrey’s ire. But she saw something else in his eyes, something that wasn’t there before- doubt, uncertainty, even pain, and she knew then that he hadn’t contested what Joffrey was saying because he _didn’t_ know if they were lies. And _that_ hurt more than anything.

“Sandor… you don’t _believe_ this, do you?”

He took a slow step towards her, his anger only barely contained, and she backed away as he approached, realizing belatedly that the more she protested the more he _did_ believe it.

“What I _believe_ is that you have a habit of taking the easy way out. I _believe_ you disappeared for 10 minutes and now I’m being accused of things that didn’t happen, things that very conveniently mean the end of a relationship you’ve been too chicken shit to end yourself.”

“That’s not what happened,” she protested quietly, but he continued as if she hadn’t said anything, his voice rising with every cruel thing he said.

“This is not my fight, Sansa. Hell, if you wanted me to do it for you I would have done it t _wo fucking years ago_. But that wouldn’t have worked, would it? You had to do it yourself; you _had_ to, do you not see that? You didn’t have to haul me around for 24 hours trying to… what, trick him into dumping you?”

“I _didn’t._ I didn’t say anything!” 

“Well, you must have said _something_ , or else why is he calling me?”

Oh god, he had her there. She _had_ said something. But it was no big deal, really, nothing like the vitriol Joffrey was spewing. And it wasn’t a trick, it was just… what, exactly?

“I just didn’t want him to call me anymore.” And that was another wrong thing to say, because now he really _was_ yelling at her.

“Well, I don’t want to be your excuse, alright? I don’t want to be the lie you tell to make him go away. I don’t want to be the pretend reason for your break-up. You want to break up with him, do it on your own. It has _nothing to do with me_ , don’t drag me into it just to make it easy for yourself!”

“I didn’t…” she began weakly. _Did_ she? She’d told Joffrey she’d moved on, but not to make him leave her alone, right? No, she’d sent the picture to do that, to make him think... oh god, was he right? She really had dangled this tenuous relationship in Joffrey’s face, just to make him mad, just to make him leave her alone, just to slam the door. And Sandor, obviously, took it all as a game, just like he was taking her silence for admission.

“Go home,” he growled low, eyes burning into hers.

“How?”

“Don’t care. I don’t want you here anymore.” Then he turned and walked into his room, leaving her standing alone and rejected in the hallway.

Sansa Stark was a dutiful girl; always had been. He told her to leave, and so she was leaving. Phone, wallet, grocery bag. Her sneakers and purse were still in his truck. _How am I supposed to get in without keys? Maybe Jeyne is home. Probably home. Maybe she’ll come get me. Except I’m not really sure where I am._  

She shook her head to gather herself, to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. She had thought… well, it didn’t really matter what she had thought, the reality was she was mistaken. He didn’t want her here, didn’t want her at all, because of one silly text message. He’d spent the whole day making her feel like she was something special, and now he was kicking her out, leaving her feeling completely... stupid.

…and embarrassed…

And… angry. She was _so_ angry. _Two years_ she’d tolerated Joffrey and his controlling, cheating, disrespectful ways, two years she’d ignored the voice in her head because it was easier to just not have an opinion. Except now she had _finally_ stuck up for herself, broken up with him in the best and most satisfying way possible. She hadn’t taken the easy way out at all, who was he to judge her and give her shit for it? Well, she may have put up with that from Joffrey but she sure as hell wasn’t going to put up with it from Sandor Clegane. _He_ was the one who told her she could be strong if she just tried, and he would see for himself just how strong she’d become.

She marched right back to his room in heated determination and found him sitting on the end of his bed, head in hands. He didn’t even bother to look up… until she started yelling at him.

“You know what? Fuck you. And fuck your little hissy fit, too. I didn’t give him any excuses, I just broke up with him. I _had_ to. And not because he cheated or because he’s an ass or any of the millions of perfectly legitimate reasons he’s given me, but because… now I know. I _know_ what it’s supposed to feel like, to want to be with someone all of the time, to get close and want to get closer, to hope that the day never ends. I’ve never felt like this before, not _ever_ , and… and… oh, god, I’m too tired for this,” she lamented, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes, rubbing the sleep out, rubbing the tears out. But she remembered what she was trying to say, and dropped her arms to face him again.

“You don’t want me, that’s fine. It really is. Cause in a way, you’re right, it has nothing to do with you. But I can’t be with him, either, not anymore. And that has _everything_ to do with you, whether you like it or not.”

She turned to leave, but thought of something else, spinning on her heel to add “Asshole.”

And _then_ she was done.

Really, _really_ done, since she was shaking in fury and sorrow and fatigue, so bad she had to keep one hand on the wall to steady herself with every tiny step she took towards the front door. What the hell just happened? Was that really it?  

She was still shaking and confused when she was suddenly yanked backwards and spun around, but before the world could stop whirling his mouth was on hers.

There was nothing gentle about that kiss, not in the way he pressed his tongue into her mouth, forcing her lips to part for him. But she didn’t protest, didn’t even want to protest, because she was _starving_ for him, frantic to put into action what her mind had been urging for hours. So even though his mouth was sticky and tasted like coffee, even though his teeth bit painfully into her lips, all she could think was how sweet he was, how good it felt to be in his arms and to have him in hers.

She couldn’t breathe, not with the giddy way her heart was pounding, and had to pull away from him to catch her breath, keeping her lips on his after the kiss was broken.

“I thought you wanted me to leave,” she whispered, because it still hurt to think about all those things he’d said, despite all the things he’d done.

“I lied.”

That was all she needed to hear, really, and she snaked her arms up around his neck, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back as she kissed him, nibbling hungrily at his lips, caressing his tongue with hers. It wasn’t as frantic as their first kiss, but somehow more passionate, and when he lifted her off the ground she obediently wrapped her legs around him, her body running on a rush of adrenaline, instinct urging her to pull him closer.

She could tell he wanted her the same way she wanted him, because she could feel his arousal pressed hard between her legs- she might be inexperienced, but she sure as hell knew what _that_ was- and without truly even thinking about it she rolled her hips firmly into his, the friction sending a pleasant warmth through her. But his reaction was not what she would have expected, and he tensed up in her arms, groaning softly in noticeable frustration.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he moaned into her mouth.

“Maybe,” she answered breathlessly, though she didn’t really understand what he meant. “You’d deserve it for kicking me out.”

She dug her hands into his hair and pulled him back in for another furious kiss, pressing harder against him. Things were spiraling very quickly out of control, and she was more than happy to let it happen. He was everywhere, slipping around the material of her dress to touch as much of her skin as he could reach, then up her back and over her shoulders, sliding under the strap across her neck. His hands were so rough, and so insistent, and anywhere he touched her felt like it was coming alive, and she could tell he liked touching her as much as she did, but she could also sense his growing agitation with the garment she was wearing. Halter dresses weren’t exactly the most logical thing to get _into,_ and this one didn’t even have a clasp in the back. So she knew what he was thinking, but was still surprised when it bubbled to the surface.

“How do you work this fucking dress?” he all but shouted and she tried- _really, really tried_ \- not to laugh, but the giggles came erupting out of her anyway, even with a hand slapped over her mouth.

“Oh, that’s funny is it?” he growled.

“A little,” she managed to reply, still giggling, and rubbed her nose against his jaw. “What makes you think I even want to get out of the dress?”

“No?” he asked with a smirk, because her opinion on the dress was perfectly clear.  “Alright, then… tell me what you want.”

“I want to stay the night,” she told him, unashamed.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he mumbled, kissing and biting at her neck, but his hands had already graciously accepted her implicit invitation and were wandering up under her dress and over her body, all the pent-up desire of the past 24 hours pouring out of him in an almost overwhelming torrent.

Not that she was any better. She was stunned by her own forwardness, not only at her brazen words but also in the way she pressed against him and slid her hands under his shirt, running her fingers over skin and muscle and chest hair, his raspy groan like a song in her ears. Even more surprising was how much she meant the promises her hands were making, how badly she wanted him, how desperately she needed him to be closer.

“What else?” he urged.

“I want you to take me home in the morning,” she admitted, eliciting a light laugh from him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to hear a girl ask me to take her home,” he rumbled with no small amount of relief in his tone.

She giggled softly at that, cause she knew what he meant, but her giggles were soon replaced with gasps as he somehow found his way to her bare breasts, caressing her nipples with his thumbs. Her head fell backwards, baring her neck for him in a subconscious show of submission, happy to lose herself in this dizzy feeling. When he kissed and sucked at her racing pulse, hands still squeezing her breasts, she thought she would die from the sensations, and whimpered in protest though she wasn’t truly protesting at all. She would happily drown in this feeling, the pleasure of being lifted and carried, as if her body was tumbling along in a wave of sleepy sultry desire.

And then she really _was_ tumbling, their bodies falling and rolling together onto something soft. Couch? No, bed. Bed! Oh god! She was lying next to him, kissing him, _on his bed!_ Her nerves were starting to catch up and she was trying to ignore them, sliding her fingers under the waistband of his jeans, the skin she found there so smooth and so hot, she so needed to touch more.

“What else?” he panted against her ear, something in it making her think he was no longer truly interested in the answer.

“I want… oh! I want to do an experiment!”

“What?” he said flatly, more statement than question, and she scurried off his bed and out of the room to retrieve her purchases.

“Yeah, I just bought some stuff to do a food science experiment, since I’m a food scientist now.”

“A _science_ experiment?” he groaned as she climbed back onto the bed next to him, digging around in the grocery bag.

“Mmmhmm. I was hoping you’d help me discover the physical properties of this particular food,” she said matter-of-factly, holding up her recently-purchased can of whipped cream.

His eyes went wide as he stared at the can in her hand, completely frozen for so long that Sansa started waving her other hand in front of his face.

“Sandor? Are you ok? Did I break you?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, blinking rapidly. “My brain… stopped… for a moment. So this is for what, putting on our pancakes in the morning?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What else you got in there?” he asked, pushing up into a sitting position.

Sansa swallowed hard and guiltily handed over the bag, avoiding his eyes as he opened it and peeked inside.

“You’re very optimistic about where this evening is going,” he rasped with a small laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“You bought a _36-count_ box of condoms.”

“Well, that was the best value for the money. Is that too many? How long will that last?

“30 years,” he answered immediately.

“Really?”

“No… probably about… a week.”

“Ok,” she nodded sleepily. He was smirking down at her for some reason, but she couldn’t figure out why and was really too tired to think about it anymore. _Clearly_ she was exhausted, if she was sitting on his bed in full light, openly discussing the box of condoms she’d purchased expressly for him to use with her. Yesterday’s Sansa would have been mortified; today’s Sansa was too euphoric to care.

“Don’t make fun of me,” she mock pouted. “You know I don’t understand these things.”

“Obviously. Did you seriously just go to the store dressed like that and buy whipped cream and condoms?”

“You know that I did,” she answered, squinting in confusion. “Why?”

“How did the cashier react?” Oh. She was starting to see the joke.

“Uh… well, now that you mention it… he seemed a little nervous.”

 _“He?_ How old was this guy?”

“About my age, I guess,” she shrugged.

“Fantastic. You probably gave him a heart attack.”

“A _heart attack?_ I said he was _my_ age, not _your_ age.”

“Funny,” he grumbled, still teasing but… something else, too, something softer. He reached out one hand to stroke gently down her arm, uncertainty in his eyes where passion had burned only moments before. _No, don’t be nervous,_ she wanted to tell him. _Not with me._ But she didn’t say that, only leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips, moved till she was lying next to him, tugging at his shoulder till he lay with her.  

“Can I stay?”

“Ok,” he agreed after a long pause, though he seemed unsure about it. “But we’re _sleeping.”_

And she knew, then, that it wasn’t just nerves- he still didn’t quite believe her. He thought she’d regret it, thought it was still a game, a rebound thing, and it touched her to know that he was unwilling to do anything with her unless it was real. More than anything she wanted him to know that it _was_.

“If that’s what you want,” she mumbled, running a finger over his neck and pretending she was disappointed, even though she actually _was_ a little disappointed. “Probably need to put that whipped cream in the fridge. Don’t want it to go bad before we can test it.”

“Eager little bird,” he teased, pressing his mouth into a line to hide his amusement.

“Well, my education is very important to me,” she responded playfully, though that wasn’t what she was thinking, not really. But he deserved to hear the truth of it, the _words_ and not the teasing, so she added “and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

She hoped he’d understand her meaning- her _real_ meaning- but she didn’t have to worry, because she could see the relief in his eyes and knew that he got her. He _always_ got her.

“Right,” he rasped with a deep sleepy sigh. “Let’s get you educated.” He grabbed the whipped cream and sat up, shaking the can with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“What?” she gasped, suddenly nervous; she hadn’t truly thought they would _use_ the whipped cream, she only got it to mess with him. But how was she supposed to back out of it now? “You said you wanted to sleep first.”

“No complaining,” he growled, popping the cap off. “This was your idea.”

“What?! Sandor… you said in the morning! You said for breakfast, I heard you! Sandor! No, not in my belly button aaaaarrrrggghhh that’s _COLD!”_


End file.
